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EXPOSITORY 
WRITING 


BY 


MERVIN  JAMES  CURL 

FORMERLY  INSTRUCTOR  IN  ENGLISH 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOia 


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HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON        NEW  YORK         CHICAGO 


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COPYRIGHT,  I919,  BY  MERVIN  JAMES  CURI. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CAMBRIDGE   .    MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S  .  A 


TO 

THE  STUDENTS  IN  RHETORIC  III 

AT  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 

WITH  WHOM  I  HAD  PLEASANT  ASSOCIATION 

FROM  1914  TO  1918 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Since  one  of  the  pleasures  of  life  is  in  being  indebted  to 
friends  for  kindnesses  so  generously  given  that  the  givers 
were  unaware  of  the  indebtedness  which  they  were  creating, 
the  author  is  happy  to  set  forth  several  acknowledgments 
of  most  helpful  counsel  and  aid.  To  Dr.  Emerson  G.  Sutcliffe, 
with  whom  a  complete  text  on  the  whole  subject  of  rhetoric 
had  been  projected,  only  to  be  set  aside,  and  to  result,  for  the 
present,  in  the  text  now  published,  the  author  wishes  to  ex- 
press his  thanks  for  advice,  criticism,  and  general  wise  help 
throughout  the  preparation  of  this  text.  Dr.  Herbert  L.  Creek 
read  many  sections  of  the  book  in  manuscript,  and  made  val- 
uable suggestions.  At  the  suggestion  of  Dr.  Jacob  Zeitlin 
the  chapter  on  the  "Informal  Essay"  was  rewritten,  with 
much  improvement.  Helpful  advice  was  given  concerning 
different  sections  of  the  book  by  Dr.  Frank  W.  Scott,  Dr. 
Harold  N.  Hillebrand,  Dr.  Clarissa  Rinaker,  and  Miss  Ruth 
Kelso.  Dr.  Robert  C.  Whitford  and  Mr.  Bruce  Weirick  read 
a  part  of  the  book  and  kindly  commented  upon  it.  All  these 
kind  friends  were  members,  at  the  time  of  giving  aid,  of  the 
faculty  of  the  University  of  Illinois. 

To  Professor  Fred  L.  Pattee,  of  the  Pennsylvania  State 
College,  the  author  feels  an  especial  debt  of  gratitude  for 
unfailing  interest  and  cheer  and  much  wise  counsel. 

Td  INIr.  Warner  G.  Rice,  a  student  in  the  University  of 
Illinois,  the  author  wishes  to  make  acknowledgment  for 
reading  one  chapter  in  manuscript  and  making  valuable  sug- 
gestions. 

So  many  friends  have  helped  at  one  time  and  another  that 
whatever  of  good  the  book  may  contain  is  doubtless  due 


vi  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

largely  to  them.     For  its  faults  the  author  alone  is  respon- 
sible. 

Due  credit  is  made  in  the  proper  places  to  the  several  pub- 
lishers who  with  unfailing  kindness  and  courtesy  allowed  the 
use  of  material  drawn  from  their  publications. 

Boston,  Massachusetts 
August  9,  1919 


CONTENTS 

I.  The  Nature  and  Material  of  Exposition    ...      1 
n.     How  to  Write  Exposition 11 

III.  Definition 73 

IV.  Analysis 113 

V.  Mechanisms,  Processes,  and  Organizations      .      .  157 

VI.  Criticism 190 

VII.  The  Informal  Essay 231 

Vni.  Expository  Biography 257 

IX.  The  Gathering  of  Material  for  Writing  .      .      .  297 
Index 305 


EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  NATURE  AND  MATERIAL  OF  EXPOSITION 

"The  Anglo-Saxons,"  Emerson  said,  "are  the  hands  of 
the  world  "  —  they,  more  than  any  other  people,  turn  the 
wheels  of  the  world,  do  its  work,  keep  things  moving.  With- 
out lingering  to  quarrel  with  Emerson,  or  to  justify  him,  we 
may  safely  assert  that  Expository  Writing  is  the  hands  of 
literature.  In  a  world  which  man  even  as  yet  only  slightly 
understands,  surrounded  as  he  is  by  his  fellows  who  con- 
stantly baffle  his  intelligence,  and  shut  up  within  the  riddle 
of  himself,  Exposition  attempts  to  explain,  to  make  clear,  to 
tear  away  the  clouds  of  mystery  and  ignorance. 

Exposition  attempts  to  answer  the  endless  curiosity  of 
man.  "What  is  this?"  man  asks,  of  things  and  of  ideas. 
"Who  are  you?"  he  addresses  to  his  fellows.  "How  did 
this  originate,  what  caused  it,  where  is  it  going,  what  will  it 
do,  how  is  it  operated?"  he  repeats  from  birth  to  grave. 
Perhaps  the  most  interesting  question  in  the  world  is  the 
never-ending  "What  does  this  mean  to  me,  how  does  it 
affect  me,  how  can  I  use  it?"  These  are  the  questions  — 
and  there  are  more  of  them  —  which  Exposition  tries  to 
answer.  Obviously,  in  making  the  answers  the  WTiting  will 
often  be  garbed  in  the  sack  suit  of  business,  will  sometimes 
roll  up  its  sleeves,  will  pull  on  the  overalls  or  tie  the  apron. 
Then  it  may  explain  the  workings  of  a  machine,  the  wonders 
of  a  printing  press,  or  may  show  the  mysteries  of  Congres- 
sional action,  or  the  organization  of  a  department  store,  or 
even  tell  how  to  bake  a  lemon  pie.    But  it  may  also  appear 


2  EXPOSITORY  WRITmO 

in  the  opulence  of  evening  costume,  and  criticize  the  en- 
semble of  an  orchestra,  discuss  the  diplomacy  of  Europe, 
address  us  in  appreciation  of  the  Arts.  It  may  assume  the 
fine  informality  of  the  fireside  and  give  us  of  its  most  de- 
lightful charms  in  discussing  the  joys  of  living  and  learning, 
the  whimsicalities  of  the  world.  In  any  case  it  will  be 
answering  the  endless  curiosity  of  man. 

It  would  not  be  rash  to  say  that  more  expository  thinking 
is  done  than  any  other  kind  of  mental  activity.  The  child 
who  dismantles  a  clock  to  find  its  secret  is  doing  expository 
thinking;  the  official,  of  however  complicated  a  business, 
who  ponders  ways  and  means,  is  trying  to  satisfy  his  busi- 
ness curiosity;  the  artist  who  studies  the  effect  of  balance,  of 
light  and  shade,  of  exclusion  or  inclusion,  is  thinking  in  ex- 
position; politicians  are  ceaselessly  active  in  explaining  to 
themselves  how  they  may,  and  to  their  constituents  how 
they  did.  We  cannot  escape  Exposition.  The  question 
then  arises,  since  this  form  of  writing  is  always  with  us  how 
can  we  make  it  effective  and  enjoyable  .f* 

All  writing  should  be  interesting;  all  really  effective  writ- 
ing does  interest.  It  may  not  be  required  that  every  reader 
be  interested  in  every  bit  of  writing  —  that  would  be  too 
much  to  hope  for  in  a  world  where  sympathies  are  unfortu- 
nately so  restricted.  To  peruse  a  directory  of  Bangkok,  if 
one  has  no  possible  acquaintance  in  that  city,  might  become 
tedious,  though  one  might  draw  pleasure  from  the  queer 
names  and  the  suggestions  of  romance.  But  if  one  has  a 
lost  friend  somewhere  in  New  York,  and  hopes  that  the 
directory  will  achieve  discovery,  the  bulky  and  endless 
volume  immediately  takes  on  the  greatest  interest.  Lin- 
coln, driven  at  length  to  write  a  recommendation  for  a 
book,  to  escape  the  importunities  of  an  agent,  wisely,  whim- 
sically, wrote,  "This  is  just  the  right  kind  of  book  for  any 
one  who  desires  just  this  kind  of  book."  Wide  though  his 
sympathies  were,  he  recognized  that  not  every  one  enjoys 


THE  NATURE  AND  MATERIAL  OF  EXPOSITION     3 

everything.  The  problem  of  the  writer  of  exposition  is  to 
make  as  wide  an  appeal  as  he  can. 

Interest  in  reading  is  of  two  kinds :  satisfaction  and  stimu- 
lation. And  each  of  these  may  be  either  intellectual  or  emo- 
tional or  both.  The  interest  of  satisfaction  largely  arises 
when  the  questions  which  the  reader  brings  with  him  to  his 
reading  are  answered.  A  reader  who  desires  to  know  what  is 
done  with  the  by-products  in  a  creamery,  where  the  skim 
milk  goes  to,  will  be  satisfied  —  and  interested  —  when  he 
learns  the  complete  list  of  uses,  among  them  the  fact  that 
skim  milk  is  largely  made  into  the  white  buttons  that  make 
our  underclothing  habitable.  The  reader  who  leaves  an 
article  about  these  by-products  with  the  feeling  that  he  has 
been  only  half  told  is  sure  to  be  dissatisfied,  and  therefore 
uninterested.  In  the  same  way,  when  a  reader  picks  up  an 
article  or  a  book  with  the  desire  to  be  thrilled  with  romance 
or  wonder,  to  be  taken  for  the  time  away  from  the  business 
of  the  world,  to  be  wrenched  with  pity  for  suffering  or  with 
admiration  for  achievement  —  in  other  words,  when  a 
reader  brings  a  hungry  emotion  to  his  reading  —  if  he  finds 
satisfaction,  he  is  interested. 

The  interest  of  stimulation  may  include  that  of  satisfac- 
tion, but  not  necessarily.  It  is  the  interest  that  drives  a 
person  to  further  thinking  or  acting  for  himself,  that  loosens 
his  own  energies  and  makes  him  aware  of  desire  for  satis- 
faction that  he  did  not  know  he  had.  A  reader  may,  for  ex- 
ample, peruse  an  editorial  in  a  daily  paper  and  find  a  com- 
plete array  of  facts,  setting  forth  in  detail  the  subject,  and 
may  be  satisfied  about  the  subject.  He  may  read  another 
editorial  which  will  not  leave  him  cold,  indifferent,  but  will 
set  his  brain  to  churning  with  ideas,  or  may  even  make  him 
clap  on  his  hat  and  start  forth  to  change  things  in  the  world. 
The  second  editorial  has  given  him  the  interest  of  stimula- 
tion. 

Writing  that  makes  the  interest  of  stimulation  is  the  writ- 


4  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

ing  of  power :  to  the  mere  satisfaction  of  hunger,  such  as  one 
can  get  from  eating  dry  oatmeal,  it  adds  the  stimulation,  the 
joy  in  life  that  a  fragrant  cup  of  coffee  would  add  to  the  oat- 
meal. Exposition  that  satisfies  is  adequate;  that  which 
stimulates  is  powerful.  Obviously,  some  expository  writing 
would  suffer  from  being  filled  with  the  power  to  rouse  the 
reader.  Much  legal  writing  must  be  addressed  to  the  intel- 
lect alone;  often  the  entrance  of  stimulation,  the  rousing  of 
the  emotions,  will  destroy  the  chance  for  justice.  Obvi- 
ously, again,  some  subjects  can  be  treated  to  contain  both 
kinds  of  interest :  an  account  of  the  devastation  of  northern 
France  may  be  as  cold  as  a  ledger  in  its  array  of  facts  which 
are  to  be  added;  it  may  also  be  so  treated  as  to  rouse  a  vit- 
riolic hatred  for  the  government  that  caused  such  devasta- 
tion to  be  made.  Each  treatment  is  allowable,  and  each 
necessary  for  a  perfectly  proper  purpose. 

Let  us  admit,  without  debate,  that  much  expository  writ- 
ing is  stupid.  Why  is  it  thus.''  Largely  for  two  reasons :  the 
writer  has  not  made  his  material  mean  anything  to  himself, 
and  he  has  not  made  it  significant  for  his  reader.  In  writing 
exposition  there  is  no  place  for  him  who  draws  his  pen  along 
like  a  quarry  slave  who  is  soon  to  be  scourged  to  his  dungeon 
and  does  not  care  for  anything.  A  person  who  finds  no  in- 
terest in  his  subject  should  do  one  of  two  things :  consult  a 
physician  to  see  if  his  health  is  normal  so  that  he  may  expect 
reasonably  vivid  reactions  to  life  and  things ;  or  choose  a  new 
subject.  Interest,  in  other  words,  enters  at  the  moment 
when  the  wo-iting  becomes  related  vitally  to  human  beings, 
and  not  until  that  moment.  Why  do  students  enjoy  reading 
the  writings  of  William  James?  Simply  because  the  author 
made  his  facts  relate  to  himself  and  to  everybody  else.  If  a 
writer  feels  like  saying,  "I  don't  see  anything  interesting  in 
this!"  and  yet  he  feels  duty  pointing  a  stern  finger  at  com- 
position, he  should  examine  the  subject  more  nearly,  should 
see  if  it  does  not  in  some  way  affect  him,  does  not  present  a 


THE  NATURE  AND  MATERIAL  OF  EXPOSITION     5 

front  that  he  is  really  concerned  with.  Suppose,  for  exam- 
ple, that  the  task  presents  itself  of  accounting  for  the  use  of 
skim  milk,  and  suppose  that  the  writer  thinks  skim  milk  of 
all  things  the  stupidest.  Well,  buttons,  they  say,  are  made 
from  it  —  but  who  cares  what  buttons  are  made  from ;  their 
purpose  is  to  hold  clothes  together,  and  that's  all!  But 
wait  a  bit :  here  are  some  hundreds  of  gallons  of  skim  milk, 
from  which  thousands  of  buttons  can  be  made.  Without 
the  milk,  the  buttons  will  be  cut  from  shells,  perhaps,  at  a 
much  larger  cost.  Ah,  the  pocketbook  is  affected,  is  it  — 
well,  let 's  have  the  milk  used,  then.  And  when  one  stops  to 
think  of  it,  is  it  not  remarkable  that  from  a  soft  thing  like 
milk  a  hard  thing  like  a  button  should  be  made?  Is  n't  man, 
after  all,  rather  ingenious.''  Who  in  the  world  ever  thought 
of  milk  buttons  .f*  Some  such  process  the  mind  often  passes 
through  in  its  approach  to  a  subject.  At  length  it  finds  in- 
terest, and  then  it  can  write  —  and  not  before. 

Here  is  the  difference,  then,  between  being  a  dumb  beast 
of  a  reporter  of  facts,  and  a  free  agent  of  an  interpreter. 
Some  facts,  to  be  sure,  are  in  themselves  so  startling  that 
mere  report  is  sufficient.  Slight  comment  is  needed  to  hor- 
rify an  audience  at  Turkish  atrocities  in  the  war.  Perhaps 
comment  would  even  weaken  the  effect.  The  terrible  poign- 
ancy of  such  facts  so  fires  the  imagination  that  more  is  per- 
haps positively  harmful.  Many  facts  are  not  thus  immedi- 
ately translated  into  human  experience.  At  first  thought 
the  fact  that  a  new  hotel  will  be  supplied  with  indirect 
lighting  seems  a  mere  fact  of  trade :  instead  of  ordering  hang- 
ing chandeliers  of  one  kind,  the  builder  will  order  another 
kind.  But  thought  of  more  fully,  this  fact  takes  on  both 
the  interest  of  satisfaction  and  that  of  stimulation :  why  did 
the  builder  decide  to  install  the  indirect  system?  and  what 
will  the  effect  be?  Imagining  one's  self  in  that  hotel  at  the 
end  of  a  long  and  bewildering  journey,  with  nerves  on  edge 
and  eyes  aflame  with  dust,  will  relate  the  fact  of  choice  at 


6  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

once  to  human  feelings  and  needs  —  and  the  subject  is  in- 
teresting. A  reader  can  be  made  to  understand  the  work- 
ings of  the  engine  in  a  super-six  automobile,  and  also  to  feel 
the  power  of  it;  to  understand  a  cream  separator  and  also  to 
thrill  to  the  economy  of  time  and  strength  which  it  brings; 
to  understand  a  clarinet  and  also  to  rouse  to  the  beauty  of 
its  voice;  to  understand  an  adding  machine  and  also  to 
marvel  at  the  uncanny  weirdness  of  the  invention.  The 
writer  interprets  as  soon  as  he  brings  his  subject  into  relation 
with  human  life  and  shows  its  real  value. 

As  already  mentioned,  care  is  to  be  exercised  to  use  the 
treatment  which  the  subject  demands.  An  explanation,  for 
practical  purposes,  of  a  machine  lathe  will  be  dangerous  if 
it  attempts  too  much  imaginative  stimulation:  there  would 
lurk  too  great  a  danger  to  material  fingers.  An  essay,  on  the 
other  hand,  such  as  those  of  Lamb  and  Stevenson,  depends 
largely  on  its  imaginative  interpretation,  on  its  appeal  to  the 
interest  of  stimulation.  For  a  neutral  newspaper  account 
of  a  football  game  the  following  heading  was  used:  "Yester- 
day's game  between  the  University  of  Illinois  and  the  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago  resulted  in  no  score  for  either  side." 
That  is  a  bald  report  of  the  facts,  for  a  neutral  audience. 
The  interpreting  spirit,  as  it  appeared  at  the  two  universi- 
ties, colored  the  tale:  "Fighting  Illini  tie  Maroons  0-0";  and, 
"Maroons  hold  Illini  to  0-0  score,"  These  two  headings,  if 
exjjanded  into  complete  articles,  would  color  the  story  with 
interpretation  for  a  specific  audience  that  is  vitally  inter- 
ested. The  accounts  would  probably  be  more  interesting 
than  that  of  the  newspaper,  but  they  would  also  run  the 
chance  of  being  less  fair. 

For  Webster's  New  International  Dictionary  art  is  defined 
as  follows:  "Application  of  skill  and  taste  to  production  ac- 
cording to  aesthetic  principles;  an  occupation  having  to  do 
with  the  theory  or  practice  of  taste  in  the  expression  of 
beauty  in  form,  color,  sound,  speech,  or  movement."   George 


THE  NATURE  AND  MATERIAL  OF  EXPOSITION     7 

Gissing,  making  a  definition  of  the  same  subject  for  his 
book,  Tlie  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecroft,  writes  as 
follows: 

It  has  occurred  to  me  that  one  might  define  Art  as:  an  expres- 
sion, satisfying  and  abiding,  of  the  zest  for  hfe.  This  is  applicable 
to  every  form  of  Art  devised  by  man,  for,  in  his  creative  moment, 
whether  he  produce  a  great  drama  or  carve  a  piece  of  foliage  in 
wood,  the  artist  is  moved  and  inspired  by  supreme  enjoyment  of 
some  aspect  of  the  world  about  him;  an  enjoyment  keener  in  itself 
than  that  experienced  by  another  man,  and  intensified,  prolonged, 
by  the  power  —  which  comes  to  him  we  know  not  how  —  of  record- 
ing in  visible  or  audible  form  that  emotion  of  rare  vitality.  Art, 
in  some  degree,  is  within  the  scope  of  every  human  being,  were  he 
but  the  ploughman  who  utters  a  few  would-be  melodious  notes,  the 
mere  outcome  of  health  and  strength,  in  the  field  at  sunrise;  he 
sings  or  tries  to,  prompted  by  an  unusual  gusto  in  being,  and  the 
rude  stave  is  all  his  own.  Another  was  he,  who  also  at  the  plough, 
sang  of  the  daisy,  or  the  field  mouse,  or  shaped  the  rhythmic  tale 
of  Tam  o'  Shanter.  Not  only  had  life  a  zest  for  him  incalculably 
stronger  and  subtler  than  that  which  stirs  the  soul  of  Hodge,  but 
he  uttered  it  in  word  and  music  such  as  go  to  the  heart  of  mankind, 
and  hold  a  magic  power  for  ages.^ 

Of  these  two  definitions  obviously  the  first  attempts 
merely  to  satisfy  the  intellectual  curiosity  of  the  reader,  is 
a  mere  report  of  facts,  and  the  second  is  interested  in  making 
an  interpretation,  in  stimulating  the  reader.  For  most 
readers  the  words  of  Gissing  would  be  more  interesting; 
though,  since  a  dictionary  is  not  primarily  an  amusement, 
it  is  a  bit  unfair  to  mention  the  fact. 

Interesting  our  expository  writing  must  be;  it  must  also 
be  truthful.  Nothing  worse  can  be  imagined  than  the  kind 
of  writing  that  forgets  the  facts,  that  remembers  only  the 
desire  to  please.  Under  the  pleasing  phraseology  of  any 
bit  of  expository  writing  there  must  be  the  firm  structure  of 

'  George  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Uenry  Ryecrojl.  By  permission  of  the  publishers, 
E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 


8  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

thouglit,  and  the  close  weave  of  fact.  Expository  writing  is 
commonly  divided  into  Definition  and  Analysis.  Definition 
attempts  to  set  bounds  to  the  subject,  to  say  "thus  far  and 
no  farther,"  to  tell  what  the  subject  is.  Analysis  regards 
the  subject  as  composed  of  parts,  mutually  related,  which 
together  form  the  whole,  and  attempts  to  divide  the  subject 
into  as  many  parts  as  it  contains.  Analysis  is  divided  into 
classification  and  partition.  Classification  groups  individ- 
vr-A  members  according  to  likeness,  as  one  might  classify 
Americans  according  to  color  or  birthplace  or  education  or 
health,  in  every  case  placing  those  who  are  alike  together. 
Partition  divides  an  organic  whole  into  its  parts,  as  one 
might  divide  the  United  States  Government  into  its  three 
branches  of  legislative,  judicial,  and  executive,  or  the  char- 
acter of  Greorge  Washington  into  its  components.  Now 
definition  and  analysis  often  intermingle  and  help  each 
other,  and  are  often  informally  treated,  but  somehow,  in 
every  piece  of  exposition,  the  underlying  thought  must  have 
a  sound  basis  of  one  or  the  other  or  both.  This  will  be  the 
nucleus  of  the  thinking;  it  may  then  be  treated  as  a  bald 
report  or  as  an  interpretation,  aiming  merely  to  give  infor- 
mation or  to  rouse  the  further  interest  of  the  reader.  The 
method  of  treatment  will  be  determined  by  the  nature  of  the 
facts  and  the  purpose  of  the  author  in  writing. 

It  cannot  be  too  strongly  stated  that  the  underlying 
thought  and  the  interest  are  really  one,  after  all.  As  you 
approach  a  subject,  and  learn  its  character  and  meaning, 
you  will  be  at  the  same  time  learning  whether  it  is  a  subject 
capable  of  great  api)eal  or  only  of  slight  attraction.  Interest 
is  not  something  laid  on,  but  is  a  development  from  the 
nature  of.  tlie  facts  themselves.  The  first  question  should 
be,  "Is  this  interesting?"  and  then  the  second  question  may 
follow,  "How  shall  I  bring  out  the  interest?"  Remember 
that  interest  depends  on  relation  to  human  beings;  the 
closer  the  relation,  the  greater  the  interest. 


THE  NATURE  AND  MATERIAL  OF  EXPOSITION     9 

Mr.  Henry  Labouchere,  English  statesman  and  for  many- 
years  editor  of  Truth,  had  an  ideal  reaction  to  life,  so  far  as 
interest  is  concerned.  If,  scanning  the  horizon  for  interest, 
he  had  bethought  himself  of  the  rather  impolite  advice  of  the 
Muse  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  "'Fool,' said  my  Muse  to  me, 
'look  in  thine  heart  and  write,' "  he  would  have  found,  upon 
following  the  advice,  a  heart  full  of  eager  curiosity  and  readi- 
ness to  be  attracted  to  anything.  The  following  account  of 
one  of  his  qualities,  as  related  in  his  biography,  is  worth  re- 
membering when  you  feel  like  saying,  "Oh,  I  don't  see  any- 
thing interesting  in  that!":  "If  he  had  encountered  a  bur- 
glar in  his  house  already  loaded  with  valuables,  his  first 
impulse  would  have  been,  not  to  call  the  police,  but  to  engage 
the  intruder  in  conversation,  and  to  learn  from  him  some- 
thing of  the  habits  of  burglars,  the  latest  and  most  scientific 
methods  of  burgling,  the  average  profits  of  the  business,  and 
so  forth.  He  would  have  been  delighted  to  assist  his  new 
acquaintance  with  suggestions  for  his  future  guidance  in  his 
profession,  and  to  point  out  to  him  how  he  might  have  avoided 
the  mistake  which  had  on  this  occasion  led  to  his  being 
caught  in  the  act.  In  all  this  he  would  not  by  any  means 
have  lost  sight  of  his  property;  on  the  contrary,  the  whole 
force  of  his  intellect  would  have  been  surreptitiously  occu- 
pied with  the  problem  of  recovering  it  with  the  least  amount 
of  inconvenience  to  his  friend  and  himself.  He  would  have 
maneuvered  to  bring  off  a  deal.  If  by  sweet  reasonableness 
he  could  have  persuaded  the  burglar  to  give  up  the  '  swag,' 
he  would  have  been  delighted  to  hand  him  a  sovereign  or 
two,  cheer  him  with  refreshment,  shake  hands,  and  wish  him 
better  luck  next  time;  and  he  would  have  related  the  whole 
story  in  the  next  week's  Truth  with  infinite  humor  and 
profound  satisfaction." 

To  make  clear,  to  explain,  —  that  is  the  task  of  exposition. 
Such  writing  does  not  have  the  excitement  of  the  fighting- 
ring,  which  we  find  in  argument,  nor  does  it  attain  the  lyric 


10  EXPOSITORY  \VRITING 

quality  of  impassioned  description,  or  the  keen  wild  flight 
of  narrative.  It  keeps  its  feet  on  the  earth,  tells  the  truth 
—  but  tells  it  in  such  a  way,  with  so  much  of  reaction  on  the 
writer's  part,  and  with  so  strong  an  appeal  to  the  reader's 
curiosity  or  imagination  or  sympathy,  that  it  is  interesting, 
that  it  is  always  adequate,  and  may  be  powerful. 


CHAPTER  II 

HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION 

The  Problem 

All  writing  —  except  mere  exercise  and  what  the  author 
intends  for  himself  alone  —  is  a  problem  in  strategy.  The 
successful  author  will  always  regard  his  writing  as  a  problem 
of  manipulation  of  material  wisely  chosen  to  accomplish  an 
objective  against  the  enemy.  The  enemy  is  the  reader. 
He  is  armed  with  two  terrible  weapons,  lack  of  interest  and 
lack  of  comprehension.  Sometimes  one  weapon  is  stronger 
than  the  other,  but  a  wise  author  always  has  an  eye  for  both. 
The  strategic  problem  is,  then,  so  to  choose  material,  and  so 
to  order  and  express  it,  that  the  reader  will  be  forced  to  be- 
come interested,  to  comprehend,  to  arrive,  in  other  words, 
at  the  point  in  his  feeling  and  thinking  to  which  the  author 
wishes  to  lead  him.  The  author's  objective  is  always  an 
effect  in  the  reader's  mind.  In  so  far  as  the  author  creates 
this  effect  he  is  successful.  And  the  time  to  consider  the 
effect,  to  make  sure  of  its  accomplishment,  is  before  the 
pen  touches  the  paper. 

Sometimes  the  author  makes  a  mistake  in  his  planning,  as 
did  the  composer  Handel  when  he  wrote  the  oratorio  of 
" The  Messiah."  He  placed  the  "Hallelujah  Chorus "  at  the 
end  of  the  oratorio.  But  when,  toward  the  end  of  the  second 
section,  he  saw  from  his  place  on  the  stage  that  the  audience 
was  not  so  enthusiastic  as  he  had  expected  it  to  be  at  that 
point,  he  changed  his  plan,  with  practical  shrewdness  rushed 
to  the  front  and  shifted  the  famous  chorus  from  the  end  of 
the  third  section  to  the  end  of  the  second,  and  had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  the  audience  so  moved  that  first  the  King 
rose,  and  then,  of  course,  the  audience  with  him.   The  chorus 


12  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

has  stood  at  the  end  of  the  second  part  to  this  day;  that  is 
the  place  for  it  —  it  brings  about  the  effect  that  Handel  de- 
sired much  better  there  than  if  it  were  saved  for  the  end  of 
the  oratorio.  The  oratorio  is,  in  other  words,  a  greater  work 
than  it  would  have  been  had  not  the  author  kept  a  keen  eye 
for  the  audience,  for  the  effect,  and  a  willingness  to  change 
his  plans  whenever  the  gaining  of  the  effect  required  a  change. 
Just  so  the  writer  should  constantly  scan  the  horizon  of  the 
reader's  mind  for  signs  of  interest  and  for  shafts  of  intelli- 
gence. 

The  effect  that  the  writer  desires  in  the  reader's  mind  may 
be  of  different  natures.  In  Baedeker's  Guide-Book  the  aim 
is  largely  to  satisfy  the  understanding,  to  meet  the  reader's 
desire  for  compact  information.  In  some  of  Poe's  tales  the 
effect  is  of  horror,  Patrick  Henry  aimed  primarily  to  rouse 
to  vigorous  action.  Shakespeare  wished  to  shed  light  upon 
the  great  truths  of  existence,  to  satisfy  the  reader's  groping 
curiosity,  and  also  to  thrill  the  reader  with  pity  and  terror 
or  with  high  good  humor  or  the  unrestrained  laughter  of 
roaring  delight. 

In  so  far  as  the  author  accomplishes  his  purpose,  in  just  so 
far  he  is  successful.  When  friends  complimented  Cicero, 
telling  him  that  he  was  the  greatest  orator,  he  replied  some- 
what as  follows:  "Not  so,  for  when  I  give  an  oration  in  the 
Forum  people  say,  'How  well  he  speaks!'  but  when  Demos- 
thenes addressed  the  people  they  rose  and  shouted,  '  Come, 
let  us  up  and  fight  the  Macedonians!'"  If  Cicero  was  cor- 
rect in  his  estimate,  Demosthenes  was  the  greater  orator  — 
of  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  —  for  he  gained  his  effect. 
President  Wilson's  great  war  messages  had  as  one  of  their  ob- 
jects, certainly,  the  rousing  in  American  hearts  of  a  high 
thrill  to  the  lofty  object  for  which  they  fought,  the  overcom- 
ing of  might  with  right.  The  remarkable  success  of  the  mes- 
sages attests  the  author's  power. 

Now  the  author  will  accomplish  this  effect  in  the  reader's 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  13 

mind  only  if  his  writing  "takes  hold,"  and  it  will  "take 
hold"  only  if  it  is  weighty,  that  is,  only  if  it  bears  toward  the 
desired  end  in  every  part  and  in  every  implication.  This  is 
as  true  in  writings  that  aim  at  light,  frivolous  effects  as  in 
those  that  stir  the  deeper  emotions,  in  writing  that  aims  at 
the  understanding  almost  alone  as  in  that  which  strives  not 
only  to  make  clear  but  to  infuse  with  deathless  appeal  to  the 
heart.  A  treatise  on  the  fourth  dimension  must  bear,  in 
every  stroke,  toward  the  complete  satisfaction  of  the  reader's' 
intellectual  curiosity;  a  comedy  must  lay  down  each  word  in 
the  intention  of  liberating  the  silver  laughter  of  humor;  a 
tragedy  must  leave  us  in  every  implication  serious,  even  in 
its  introduction  of  comical  material  to  heighten  the  tragic 
nature  of  the  whole.  To  make  every  word  bear  in  the  one 
general  direction  —  that  is  the  writer's  task.  In  no  other 
way  can  he  move  the  reader's  mind  and  heart  as  he  wishes  to. 
An  author  finds,  however,  that  to  gain  the  desired  effect 
requires  skillful  manipulation  on  his  part.  He  confronts 
a  mass  of  refractory  material,  often  full  of  contradictions, 
in  which  any  potential  effect  seems  almost  as  difficult  to  dis- 
cover as  the  proverbial  needle  in  the  well-known  haystack. 
For  example,  when  a  historian  sits  down,  one  hundred  years 
hence,  to  the  task  of  explaining  the  Great  War,  he  will  be 
confronted  with  an  amazing  welter  of  endless  facts,  tenden- 
cies, personal,  national,  and  racial  ambitions,  enmities, 
com]>etitions  in  trade,  language,  customs,  indiscretions  of 
diplomats,  inscrutable  moves  of  controlling  powers,  checks 
and  counter  checks,  assertion  and  denial,  accusation  and  as- 
surance of  innocence,  bribery  and  plots  and  spy  systems, 
amateur  comment  in  newspaper,  and  magazine,  defenses  by 
people  who  have  retained  their  poise  and  other  defenses  by 
those  whose  faculties  have  been  unseated  by  the  awful  strain 
of  war  —  and  everywhere  he  will  find  the  endless  array  of 
events  and  detailed  facts  of  organization  of  civil  and  military 
life  to  mold  somehow  into  a  consistent,  intelligible  who^e. 


14  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

Well  may  he  say  that  the  task  is  too  great  for  mortal  man. 
Yet  somehow  the  history  is  to  be  written,  somehow  the 
effect  that  he  wishes  is  to  be  gained.  Obviously  the  great 
prime  task  is  to  unify,  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos,  to  create 
from  formless  material  a  real  edifice  of  thought.  Exactly 
the  same  task  awaits  the  writer  of  any  kind  of  literature;  in 
a  short  theme  no  less,  the  first  great  duty  is  to  find  some 
principle  whereby  the  author  can  exclude  the  useless  and 
include  what  is  of  value. 

The  first  question  to  ask  is  —  and  it  is  also  the  last  and 
the  intervening  question — "What  am  I  trying  to  accom- 
plish?" At  first  thought  this  question  may  seem  the  most 
obvious,  the  most  elementary,  and  the  least  helpful  query 
possible.  But  upon  its  being  successfully  met  depends  the 
whole  success  of  the  writing,  whether  of  choosing  or  order- 
ing or  proportioning  the  material,  or  of  expressing  the  selected 
ideas.  For,  since  the  chief  task  before  the  writer  is  to  make 
his  thoughts  and  his  expression  drive  in  one  direction,  so 
that  the  whole  composition  is  simplified  in  the  reader's  mind, 
is  unified  and  given  an  organic  existence,  even  the  choice  of 
words,  upon  which  depends  so  much  of  tlie  tone  of  the  com- 
position, is  largely  settled  by  the  answer  to  this  question  of 
what  the  author  hopes  to  accomplish. 

In  Exposition,  the  explaining  the  relations  among  things 
and  ideas,  we  are  commonly  told  that  we  must  "cover  the 
ground,"  must  "stick  to  the  subject,"  must  "include  what- 
ever is  valuable  and  reject  the  rest."  But  such  directions  are 
insufficient.  Until  I  have  some  touchstone,  some  applicable 
standard,  I  cannot  tell  whether  material  is  valuable  or  not. 
It  is  as  if  one  were  brought  into  the  presence  of  multifarious 
building  material,  —  wood  both  hard  and  soft,  cement  and 
the  other  ingredients  of  concrete,  bricks,  stucco,  and  steel 
beams,  and  terra  cotta  tiles,  —  and  then  were  requested  to 
build  a  house,  using  whatever  of  the  material  might  be  of 
value,  and  removing  the  rest.     The  builder  would  be  non- 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  15 

plussed.  He  cannot  build,  now  with  wood,  now  with  stone, 
and  again  with  tile;  if  he  did,  the  saying  would  be  all  too  true, 
"There  's  no  place  like  home! "  He  can  do  nothing  reason- 
able until  he  has  been  informed  as  to  the  kind  of  house  de- 
sired, until  he  is  given  a  principle  of  selection.  Then,  if  he 
has  been  bidden  to  make  a  brick  house,  he  at  once  knows  what 
his  object  is,  and  can  then  reject  whatever  does  not  help  him, 
in  the  accomplishment.  In  the  same  way,  if  I  am  asked  to 
write  five  thousand  words  about  Horticulture,  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  choose  from  the  history  of  the  science,  or  the  present  status, 
or  the  still  unsolved  problems,  or  the  relative  advancement 
in  different  countries,  or  the  possibility  of  the  pursuit  of 
horticulture  as  a  profession,  or  the  poetic,  the  imaginative 
stimulus  of  working  among  apple  blossoms,  or  the  value  to 
health  of  working  in  the  open  air.  Perhaps  any  one  of  these 
divisions  of  the  total  subject  would  require  five  thousand 
words;  certainly  with  so  limited  an  amount  of  material  of 
expression  I  cannot  cover  all;  and  if  I  choose  a  bit  of  each, 
the  result  will  hopelessly  confuse  the  reader  as  to  the  science, 
for  I  shall  perforce  write  a  series  of  mere  disjuncta  membra. 
I  must,  then,  choose  at  once  some  guiding  principle  of 
selection  that  will  make  clear  whether,  for  instance,  the 
poetic  appeal  of  the  science  has  anything  to  do  with  my  object. 
Then,  and  only  then,  shall  I  be  able  to  write  an  article  that 
will  "take  hold,"  that  will  bear  in  every  part  toward  some 
definite  goal,  that  will  leave  my  reader  with  a  well-organized, 
easily  understood  piece  of  writing.  Only  thus  can  I  escape 
making  a  mere  enumeration  about  as  sensible  as  to  add  po- 
tatoes and  church  steeples  and  treasurers'  reports  and  feather 
boas  and  card  parties  and  library  paste  in  the  hope  of  mak- 
ing an  integral  whole.  This  guiding  idea,  which  avoids  such 
selections,  may  perhaps  best  be  called  the  "controlling  pur- 
pose" of  the  theme  or  article  or  book. 


16  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  Controlling  Purpose 

What,  then,  is  the  controlling  purpose  ?  It  is  the  answer  to 
the  question,  "What  am  I  trying  to  accomplish?"  It  is  the 
intelligent  determination  on  the  writer's  part  to  make  the  ma- 
terial of  his  writing  march  straight  toward  a  definite  goal  which 
he  wishes  the  reader  to  perceive.  It  is  the  actively  operating 
point  of  view  of  the  writer,  the  positive  angle  of  vision  that  he 
takes  toivard  the  subject.  The  controlling  purpose  in  Lin- 
coln's mind  as  he  rode  up  to  Gettysburg  must  have  been  to 
bring  home  to  the  civilians  of  the  country,  with  a  great 
humble  thrill  toward  accomplishment,  the  fact  that  after 
the  soldiers  had  done  all  they  could,  the  civilians  must  rev- 
erently take  up  the  fight  for  freedom  and  union.  His  ad- 
dress is  immortal.  But  suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  he  had 
ascended  the  platform  with  the  vague  idea  of  "saying  some- 
thing about  America,  the  war,  you  know,  and  the  soldiers, 
and  liberty,  —  oh,  yes,  Liberty,  of  course,  —  and,  oh,  things 
in  general."  Though  he  had  thundered  for  hours  his  words 
would  likely  have  been  ineffective.  Only  an  intense  realiza- 
tion of  the  purpose  in  one's  mind,  and  a  consistent  bending 
of  one's  efforts  to  gain  this  end,  bring  simplicity,  weighti- 
ness,  and  the  powerful  effect  in  the  reader's  mind.  From 
the  reader's  point  of  view,  in  fact,  we  might  say  that  the  con- 
trolling purpose  is  the  means  of  making  writing  interesting, 
since  nothing  so  holds  a  reader's  mind  as  to  feel  that  he  is 
getting  somewhere,  that  he  is  accomplishing  somethmg  by 
his  efforts.  In  no  other  way  can  he  be  made  so  clearly  to  see 
his  progress,  for  only  thus  can  he  be  prevented  from  undi- 
rected wandering. 

Source  of  the  Controlling  Purpose 

a.   The  Subject  itself 

When  we  ask  how  we  shall  find  and  choose  the  controlling 
purpose,  we  discover  that  it  is  determined  by  three  things: 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  17 

the  subject  itself,  the  personahty  of  the  writer,  and  the 
character  of  the  reader.  Just  how  these  three  operate  to 
determine  the  cast  of  the  writing  we  shall  now  attempt  to 
discover. 

The  first  thing  for  the  writer  to  do  is  to  look  at  the  subject 
itself  and  learn  what  it  is,  really  understand  it.  He  must 
know  its  exact  nature  before  he  can  be  allowed  to  proceed 
with  the  development.  Now  this  often  requires  much  hon- 
esty, for  it  is  necessary  to  put  aside  prejudice  and  bias  of 
all  kinds  and  to  look  at  the  subject  just  as  it  is,  with  a  pas- 
sionate desire  to  learn  its  exact  nature.  For  example,  if  you 
are  to  write  about  the  value  of  a  college  education,  and  you 
are  an  ideaUst,  you  may  be  tempted  to  overlook  the  fact 
that  such  a  training  does  actually  help  a  man  to  earn  more 
money  than  he  otherwise  would.  You  may  think  that  such 
a  consideration  is  beneath  your  dignity.  But  you  must  put 
aside  your  prejudice  for  the  time  being  and  must  look  the 
fact  honestly  in  the  face.  And,  if  you  are  a  hard-headed, 
practical  person,  you  must  nevertheless  admit  that  a  col- 
lege education  is  broadening,  chastening,  in  its  influence. 
In  either  case  you  will  not  stop  until  you  have  looked  at 
all  possible  sides  of  the  subject.  You  will  amass  such 
facts,  then,  as  that  a  college  education  is  broadening,  that 
it  increases  earning  capacity,  that  it  puts  a  person  in 
touch  with  the  world,  that  it  makes  him  more  able  to  be 
a  useful  citizen.  Other  facts  also  will  occur  to  you,  but  let 
us  suppose  that  these  are  the  most  important.  If  you  care- 
fully examine  them  you  will  perhaps  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  a  college  education  is  valuable  in  that  it  helps  a  person 
to  realize  his  best  possibilities  in  every  way,  as  a  citizen, 
a  friend,  a  personality.  Or,  if  you  are  to  write  about  the 
aeroplane,  you  will  discover  that  it  is  heavier  than  air,  that 
it  is  propelled  by  motor-power,  that  it  attains  certain  speeds, 
that  it  has  definite  lifting  power,  that  it  is  self-stabilizing 
to  a  remarkable  degree,  that  it  is  made  of  certain  kinds  of 


18  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

material,  of  certain  weight,  and  that  it  has  one,  or  two,  or 
even  three  planes.  In  addition  you  will  note  the  qualities 
of  efficiency,  of  triumphing  over  winds,  of  beautiful  poise, 
and  smoothness  of  execution.  In  both  these  cases  you  have 
been  seeking  the  core  of  your  subject,  the  real  meaning  of  it, 
its  essence.  You  must,  before  you  begin  to  write  a  A\T3rd, 
be  able  to  say  what  all  the  noticed  facts  amount  to,  to  say, 
"All  told,  this  subject,  this  machine,  or  whatever  it  is,  means 
so-and-so,"  Perhaps  of  the  aeroplane  you  would  say,  "  This 
machine  stands  for  wonderful  potential  efficiency,  not  yet 
completely  understood."  In  the  same  way  we  say  of  people 
and  things,  "  He  is  a  bore,"  or  " a  tyrant,"  or,  "That  is  a  great 
social  menace,"  or  some  other  such  comment.  In  each  case 
we  have  tagged  the  person  or  thing  with  what  we  think  it 
is  at  its  heart,  with  its  total  significance.  And  not  until 
we  have  done  this  are  we  at  all  ready  to  begin  writing. 

h.   The  Writer's  Attitude 

The  second  influence  in  determining  the  controlling  pur- 
pose is  the  reaction  of  the  writer  to  the  subject.  In  the  fol- 
lowing estimate  of  Lord  Morley,  the  great  English  states- 
man, you  will  notice  that,  though  the  treatment  seems  to  be, 
at  first,  purely  objective,  quite  impersonal,  the  author  can- 
not keep  himself  out:  he  enters  with  the  fifth  word,  "thrill- 
ing," in  which  he  shows  where  he  stands  himself  in  regard  to 
truth,  and  he  appears  more  at  length  in  the  last  two  clauses 
of  the  selection,  where  he  definitely  set  the  approval  of  his 
own  heart  upon  Lord  Morley 's  attitude.  The  third  influence, 
that  of  the  reader,  appears  also,  for  when  you  consider  that 
the  article  was  written  for  Englishmen  to  read,  you  see  the 
molding  for  the  national  temper,  different  of  necessity  from 
that  which  would  have  been  made  for  Frenchmen,  for  ex- 
ample. The  author  relies  upon  a  knowledge  of  Morley 
among  his  readers,  and  upon  a  certain  definite  attitude 
among  them  toward  the  truth. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  19 

You  will  catch  that  thrilling  note  in  the  oratory  of  Lord  Morley 
at  all  times,  for  he  touches  politics  with  a  certain  spiritual  emotion 
that  makes  it  less  a  business  or  a  game  than  a  religion.  He  lifts 
it  out  of  the  street  on  to  the  high  lands  where  the  view  is  wide  and 
the  air  pure  and  where  the  voices  heard  are  the  voices  that  do  not 
bewilder  or  betray.  He  is  the  conscience  of  the  political  world  — 
the  barometer  of  our  corporate  soul.  Tap  him  and  you  will  see 
whether  we  are  at  "foul"  or  "fair."  He  has  often  been  on  the 
losing  side :  sometimes  perhaps  on  the  wrong  side :  never  on  the 
side  of  wrong.     He  is 

True  as  a  dial  to  the  sun. 
Although  it  be  not  shined  upon. 

There  is  about  him  a  sense  of  the  splendid  austerity  of  truth  —  cold 
but  exhilarating.  It  is  not  merely  that  he  does  not  lie.  There  are 
some  other  politicians  of  whom  that  may  be  said.  It  is  that  he 
does  not  trifle  with  truth.  It  is  sacred  and  inviolate.  He  would  not 
admit  with  Erasmus  that  "there  are  seasons  when  we  must  even 
conceal  truth,"  still  less  with  Fouche  that  "les  paroles  sont  faites 
pour  cacher  nos  pensees."  ^  His  regard  for  the  truth  is  expressed 
in  the  motto  to  the  essay  "On  Compromise" :  "It  makes  all  the  dif- 
ference in  the  world  whether  we  put  truth  in  the  first  place  or  in 
the  second."  This  inflexible  veracity  is  the  rarest  and  the  most 
precious  virtue  in  politics.  It  made  him,  if  not,  as  Trevelyan  says 
of  Macaulay,  "the  worst  popular  candidate  since  Coriolanus,"  at 
least  a  severe  test  of  a  constituency's  attachment.  It  is  Lord  Mor- 
ley's  contribution  to  the  common  stock.  Truth  and  Justice  —  these 
are  the  fixed  stars  by  which  he  steers  his  barque,  and  even  the 
Prayer  Book  places  Religion  and  Piety  after  them,  for  indeed  they 
are  the  true  foundation  of  religion  and  piety.^ 

The  second  consideration,  then,  is,  "What  does  this  sub- 
ject mean  to  me?  "  Of  course  there  are  subjects  in  which  this 
question  is  of  slight  importance:  in  w^riting  a  treatise  on 
mathematics,  for  instance,  one  might  be  quite  indifferent 
to  any  personal  reaction,  though  in  even  such  a  piece  of  writ- 

1  Words  were  made  to  conceal  our  thoughts. 

2  A.  G.  Gardiner:  Prophets,  Priests,  and  Kings.  By  permission  of  the  publishers,  E.  P. 
Button  &  Co..  New  York  City. 


20  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

ing  there  might  appear  a  thrill  at  the  neat  marshaling  of 
forces  for  the  inevitable  waiting  answer  to  the  problem.  In 
general,  however,  this  question  is  of  great  importance.  Ste« 
venson  goes  so  far  as  even  to  say  that  the  author's  attitude 
is  more  important  than  the  facts  themselves.  Certainly 
a  writer  cannot  tell  what  is  the  truth  for  himself  unless  he 
expresses  his  ideas  in  the  light  of  his  own  personality.  Sup- 
pose that  in  the  case  of  the  aeroplane,  though  you  believe 
the  central  fact  as  we  expressed  it  above,  you  are  primarily 
appealed  to  by  the  fact  that  the  motor  is  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance, and  that  at  present  it  is  not  so  highly  developed  as 
it  should  be  for  perfect  flying.  You  are,  in  other  words,  im- 
pressed with  the  problem  that  confronts  engineers  of  making 
the  motor  more  efficient.  Your  controlling  purpose  would 
now  be  modified,  then,  and  would  perhaps  read,  "The  aero- 
plane is  a  machine  of  wonderful  potential  efficiency  not 
yet  completely  understood,  especially  as  regards  the  driving 
power.  In  the  same  way  you  would  modify  the  purpose  of 
the  treatment  of  college  education  and  might  say,  "A  col- 
lege education  is  valuable  in  that  it  helps  a  person  to  realize 
his  best  possibilities  in  every  way,  but  especially  as  an  heir 
of  all  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  gone." 

The  relative  importance  of  this  second  consideration  de- 
pends on  whether  the  subject  is  much  or  little  affected  by 
personal  interpretation.  In  the  personal  essay,  as  written 
by  Lamb,  for  example,  we  may  care  more  for  the  man  than 
for  the  facts,  or  more  for  the  facts  as  seen  by  the  man  than 
for  the  mere  facts  alone.  In  questions  of  society,  of  moral- 
ity, of  taste,  in  which  the  answer  is  not  absolute  in  any  case, 
in  all  matters  that  affect  the  well-being  of  humanity  and  in 
which  there  is  a  shifting  standard,  the  attitude  of  the  writer 
is  important.  The  writer  who  wishes  to  have  a  voice  of 
authority  must  cling  to  the  fact  as  to  a  priceless  jewel,  but 
he  must  also  remember  that  if,  for  example,  he  is  writing 
on  Feminism,  or  Socialism,  or  Church  Attendance,  or  Th» 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  21 

Short  Ballot,  or  The  New  Poetry,  or  The  Value  of  Social 
Clubs  in  the  Country,  or  any  such  subject,  we,  the  readers, 
eagerly  wait  on  his  words  as  being  primarily  an  expression  of 
his  personal  reaction  to  the  matter.  And  the  final  value  of 
the  treatment  will  depend  on  whether  the  personality  is  well- 
poised,  largely  sympathetic,  able  to  take  an  elastic  view 
of  the  subject  and  to  bring  it  home  to  the  reader  as  a 
piece  of  warmly  felt  and  honestly  stated  conviction.  In 
exposition,  as  well  as  in  argument,  we  must  ask  the  witness, 
—  that  is,  the  writer,  —  whether  he  is  prejudiced  or  not. 
Especially  must  we  do  this  when  we  happen  to  be  the  author 
ourselves.  Violent  condemnation  of  Capital  by  a  man  who 
has  become  embittered  by  mistreatment  at  the  hands  of 
employers  must  be  taken  with  somewhat  of  caution,  just 
as  sweeping  arraignment  of  Socialism  by  an  arrogant  capital- 
ist must  be  eyed  askance. 

It  might  not  be  amiss  to  remark  here  that  the  writer  in 
a  college  class  who  declares  that  he  has  no  reaction  to  his 
subject,  that  he  is  quite  indifferent  to  it,  should  do  one  of 
two  things,  either  choose  a  new  subject,  or  drop  from  col- 
lege and  go  to  work  at  some  vitalizing  effort  with  other 
people  which  will  bring  home  realities  to  him  in  such  a  way 
that  he  cannot  fail  to  react. 

In  the  following  brief  incident  it  is  interesting  to  note 
how  the  author  shows  his  own  personality.  Another  would 
have  thought  of  the  problem  of  dietetics  involved,  or  of  the 
absence  of  coffee  or  "parritch"  or  the  rasher  of  bacon,  or  of 
the  austerity  of  the  meal.  To  Gissing  ^  the  incident  was 
significant  as  showing  a  national  characteristic  both  admi- 
rable and  amusing. 

At  an  inn  in  the  north  I  once  heard  three  men  talking  at  their 
breakfast  on  the  question  of  diet.  They  agreed  that  most  people 
ate  too  much  meat,  and  one  of  them  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that, 

>  George  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecroft,  "  Summer,"  XXi.  By  permission  of 
the  publishers,  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 


22  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

for  his  part,  he  rather  preferred  vegetables  and  fruit.  "Why,"  he 
said,  "will  you  believe  me  that  I  sometimes  make  a  breakfast  of 
apples?  "  This  announcement  was  received  in  silence;  evidently  the 
two  listeners  did  n't  quite  know  what  to  think  of  it.  Thereupon 
the  speaker,  in  rather  a  blustering  tone,  cried  out,  "Yes,  I  can 
make  a  very  good  breakfast  on  two  or  three  'pounds  of  apples." 

Was  n't  it  amusing?  And  was  n't  it  characteristic?  This 
honest  Briton  had  gone  too  far  in  frankness.  'T  is  all  very  well 
to  like  vegetables  and  fruit  up  to  a  certain  point;  but  to  breakfast 
on  apples!  His  companions'  silence  proved  that  they  were  just  a 
little  ashamed  of  him;  his  confession  savoured  of  poverty  or  mean- 
ness; to  right  himself  in  their  opinion,  nothing  better  occurred  to 
the  man  than  to  protest  that  he  ate  apples,  yes,  but  not  merely 
one  or  two;  he  ate  them  largely,  by  the  pound  I  I  laughed  at  the 
fellow,  but  I  thoroughly  understood  him;  so  would  every  English- 
man; for  at  the  root  of  our  being  is  a  hatred  of  parsimony.  This 
manifests  itself  in  all  manner  of  ludicrous  or  contemptible  forms,  but 
no  less  is  it  the  source  of  our  finest  qualities.  An  Englishman  de- 
sires, above  all,  to  live  largely;  on  that  account  he  not  only  dreads 
but  hates  and  despises  poverty.  His  virtues  are  those  of  the  free- 
handed and  warm-hearted  opulent  man;  his  weaknesses  come  of 
the  sense  of  inferiority  (intensely  painful  and  humiliating)  which 
attaches  in  his  mind  to  one  who  cannot  spend  and  give;  his  vices, 
for  the  most  part,  originate  in  loss.of  self-respect  due  to  loss  of  secure 
position. 

c.  The  Reader 

The  third  consideration  is,  "  Who  is  my  reader,  and  what 
are  his  characteristics?"  The  counter-question,  "Wliat 
difference  does  it  make  who  my  reader  is?"  can  be  sum- 
marily answered  with  the  statement  that  it  makes  a  great 
deal  of  difference.  As  soon  as  you  note  what  a  large  p«rt 
temperament  plays  in  the  forming  of  opinions  in  poli- 
tics and  religion  and  social  questions,  and  remember  that 
no  two  people  ever  react  to  any  truth  in  exactly  the  same 
way  —  that  what  seems  to  one  sensible  person  monstrous 
will  appear  to  another  equally  sensible  person  as  highly 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  23 

virtuous  —  you  will  see  that  in  all  writing,  where  either  the 
understanding  or  the  emotions  are  involved,  this  question 
assumes  importance.  If  we  believe  the  theory  with  which 
we  set  out,  that  all  writing  is  done  to  accomplish  an  object, 
that  is,  a  certain  effect  in  the  reader's  mind,  and  then  re- 
member that  different  readers  take  different  trails  to  the 
same  objective,  and  that  some  must  be  even  coaxed  back 
from  one  trail  into  another,  we  shall  see  that  it  is  vital  that 
the  reader  do  not  select  the  wrong  way,  and,  like  a  futile 
dog,  "bark  up  the  wrong  tree."  A  hasty  glance  at  current 
magazines  will  at  once  show  how  operative  this  considera- 
tion is  in  practical  writing:  The  Atlantic  Monthly  uses  a  dif- 
ferent set  of  subjects  and  a  different  style  of  expression  from 
that  of  The  Scientific  American  or  The  Black  Cat  or  The 
Parisienne.  The  editors,  in  other  words,  are  remembering 
who  their  readers  are  and  are  trying  to  meet  them  with 
gifts,  not  with  weapons  of  offense.  After  all,  the  reader  is 
always  the  destination  of  all  writing;  the  place  where  the 
effect  will  be  made  is  the  reader's  mind. 

To  apply  this  third  consideration  to  our  two  subjects, 
the  value  of  a  college  education  and  the  aeroplane,  let  us  see 
how  the  treatment  should  differ  according  to  the  differing 
readers.  If,  in  the  treatment  of  the  first  subject,  we  are 
presenting  our  statements  to  a  I^ody  of  educators,  even 
though  the  facts  of  college  education  remain  unmoved,  and 
though  our  personal  leaning  toward  the  supreme  value  in 
dowering  the  student  with  the  wisdom  of  the  past  is  un- 
changed, we  shall  yet  see  that  these  educators  have  already 
thought  as  we  have  about  the  matter,  that  merely  to  repeat 
to  them  will  be  futile  and  wearying;  and  we  shall,  if  we  are 
wise,  change  the  point  of  attack  and  develop  the  value  as  en- 
abling the  student  to  apply  to  practical  problems  the  wisdom 
of  the  past.  Or,  if  the  readers  are  to  be  politicians  whom  we 
wish  to  enlist  in  sympathy  with  larger  endowments,  we  shall 
I>erhaps  treat  the  subject  as  being  increased  political  insight 


24  EXPOSITORY  AVRITING 

and  sympathy  with  all  people.  In  the  treatment  of  the 
aeroplane,  if  we  are  presenting  our  words  to  engineers,  we 
shall  probably  analyze  the  present  lack  of  proper  engine 
power  and  try  to  suggest  means  of  correction.  And  we  shall 
make  our  presentation  in  language  that  has  not  been  stripped 
of  its  technicalities  but  has  been  allowed  to  stand  in  engi- 
neering terms.  But  if  we  address  a  body  of  benevolent 
women  who  are  trying  to  organize  an  "Airmen's  Relief 
Fund,"  and  who  look  upon  the  machine  with  horror  as  a  po- 
tential destroyer  of  life,  we  shall  simply  show  that  accidents 
may  be  caused  through  faulty  engines  which  may  often  result 
in  loss  of  life.  The  original  controlling  purpose  will  now 
appear,  "The  value  of  a  college  education  lies  in  its  oflfering 
the  best  chance  for  personal  development  through  showing 
to  the  student  his  heirship  to  all  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  past, 
especially  as  this  is  applied  to  present-day  problems,"  or, 
"  The  aeroplane  is  a  machine  of  great  potential  efficiency  not 
yet  completely  understood,  especially  as  regards  the  driving 
power,  through  which  lack  of  understanding  grave  accidents 
may  occur." 

Now  if  we  scan  these  two  statements  carefully,  I  believe 
that  we  shall  be  persuaded  of  their  inadequacy.  To  explain 
to  the  benevolent  women  who  are  interested  in  saving  lives 
the  fact  that  we  do  not  yet  fully  understand  the  aeroplane, 
is  like  attempting  to  persuade  a  man  from  the  path  of  an 
oncoming  thunderous  locomotive  by  telling  him  of  the  lack 
of  laws  to  regulate  public  safety.  In  other  words,  we  have 
forgotten  that  a  wedge  makes  the  easiest  entrance,  and  we 
have  attacked  on  far  too  broad  a  front,  have  failed  to  whittle 
away  the  chips  that  are  of  no  value  to  the  reader.  Perhaps 
we  need  a  complete  restatement  of  the  controlling  purpose, 
occasioned  by  the  nature  of  the  reader.  We  may  say  that 
the  value  of  a  college  education  is  in  enabling  a  student  to 
be  of  service  to  the  state  by  applying  the  wisdom  of  the  past, 
or  that  the  aeroplane,  partly  through  our  ignorance  of  it. 


HOW  TO  WEITE  EXPOSITION  25 

is  causing  terrible  accidents.  These  purposes  are  far  dif- 
ferent from  those  with  which  we  started  out.  All  are  per- 
fectly true;  these  are  better  adapted  to  our  particular  read- 
ers, are  more  useful  in  helping  to  accomplish  our  selected 
aim.  The  gist  of  the  matter  is  this :  wisdom  in  writing  de- 
mands that  we  discover  the  special  loophole  through  which 
our  readers  regard  the  subject  and  then  bring  our  material 
within  the  view  from  that  loophole,  bearing  in  mind  always 
the  training  and  the  prejudices  of  the  reader,  and  conform- 
ing material  to  suit  the  special  needs. 

One  large  reason  why  college  themes  are  liable  to  dullness 
is  the  fact  that  few  students  write  for  any  one  in  particular. 
They  merely  put  down  colorless  facts  which  do  not  stir  a 
reader  in  the  slightest.  They  forget  that  facts  exist,  really, 
only  as  they  relate  to  people,  individual  people,  and  that 
they  must  be  clothed  attractively,  as  is  virtue  for  a  child's 
consumption,  or  the  reader  will  have  none  of  them.  Even 
the  patient  writer  of  themes  should  regard  a  specially  chosen 
reader  as  at  the  same  time  his  best  friend  and  his  potentially 
worst  enemy :  friend  in  the  sense  of  recipient  of  literary  gifts, 
and  enemy  in  the  sense  of  possible  foiler  of  all  the  author's 
good  intentions.  As  enemy  the  reader  must  be  conquered, 
must  be  made  to  read  and  understand;  as  friend  he  is  to  be 
sympathetically  met  and  smiled  upon.  And  if  there  be  no 
reader  determined  bj'  the  circumstances,  the  writer  should 
choose  some  well-known  friend  and  adapt  his  material  to 
that  friend,  or  should  select  any  ordinarily  intelligent  being 
and  use  the  widest  appeal  that  he  can. 

d.  Relative  Value  of  Sources 
Now  the  relative  value  of  these  three  sources  of  the  control- 
ling purpose  is  variable.  In  an  article  for  the  encyclopaedia 
the  writer's  reaction  should  be  subordinated,  since  the  reader 
comes  to  the  encyclopaedia  for  facts  and  not  for  opinion. 
Likewise  the  reader,  in  such  an  article,  will  be  of  minor  im- 


26  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

portance,  for  the  article  is  addressed  to  general  ordinary  in- 
telligence that  desires  a  straightforward  statement.  But  as 
we  have  seen,  an  article  on  Feminism  must  with  the  greatest 
care  watch  the  reader  and  the  writer  —  the  reader  because 
the  subject  rouses  both  assent  and  opposition;  the  writer 
because  the  subject  is  of  the  kind  that  depend  largely  on 
opinion.  So  a  theme  on  the  problem  of  the  hired  man,  or 
Tennyson's  attitude  toward  science,  or  the  reasons  for  at- 
tending one  university  rather  than  another,  or  the  value  of 
mechanical  stokers,  or  the  application  of  Mendel's  Law  to  hu- 
man beings  will  vary  its  purpose  according  to  the  varying 
importance  of  the  three  sources.  Only  one  great  caution 
needs  to  be  made.  Never  falsify  or  mistreat  the  facts :  they 
are  the  supreme  thing.  It  is  for  this  fault  that  the  newspapers 
are  most  blameable:  they  consider  their  readers  and  their 
own  points  of  view,  but  all  too  often  they  treat  the  facts 
cavalierly.  A  high  reverence  for  the  truth,  and  an  unflinch- 
ing determination  to  tell  it  are  prime  essentials. 

The  Controlling  Purpose  and  the  Emotional  Reaction 

So  far  we  have  been  concerned  with  the  problem  of  plac- 
ing the /ads  before  the  reader,  of  appealing  to  his  intelli- 
gence. But  writing  consists  of  vastly  more  than  that  alone. 
After  the  understanding,  sometimes  before,  must  be  con- 
sidered the  emotions.  We  have  the  facts,  we  know  what 
we  think  of  them,  and  we  are  reasonably  sure  of  the  reader's 
attitude.  Now  we  must  discover  how  to  set  the  reader's 
emotions  afire  in  so  far  as  we  desire  such  an  effect.  In  listen- 
ing to  a  great  tragedy  we  perceive  the  cold  analysis  of  a  great 
truth  of  life;  but  that  is  not  all:  far  out  beyond  the  bounds  of 
understanding  our  emotions  are  profoundly  stirred  and  we 
feel  pity  and  terror.  So  in  the  account  of  a  tremendous  battle, 
of  a  fire,  of  anything  that  touches  human  life  at  all  nearly 
and  with  power,  our  emotions  are  called  into  play.  Now 
different  pieces  of  writing,  just  like  different  subjects,  call 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION"  27 

for  different  degrees  of  emotional  reaction.  Drama  always 
rouses  us,  lyric  poems  depend  upon  their  emotional  quality, 
the  informal  essay  has  much  emotional  appeal,  fiction  of  any 
sort  stirs  our  feelings,  and  the  more  powerful  the  writing  is, 
the  more  sure  the  appeal. 

At  first  thought  most  expository  writing  might  be  consid- 
ered to  make  slight  appeal,  if  any,  to  emotions.  That  is  not 
necessarily  true;  the  more  effective  the  exposition,  the  more 
real  is  usually  the  call  to  feeling.  Often  this  call  is  subtle, 
usually  it  is  subordinate  to  the  appeal  to  the  understanding, 
but  in  most  effective  expository  writing  it  will  be  found.  In 
an  explanation  of  the  Panama  Canal  certainly  there  would 
be  roused  the  reader's  admiration  and  wonder  at  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  operation.  The  mere  analysis  of  the  facts  in 
a  criminal  trial  often  settles  the  case,  so  great  is  the  emotional 
appeal.  In  didactic  writing  the  call  to  emotion  is  less  strong, 
though  such  a  writer  as  Jonathan  Edwards  could  explain  the 
writhing  of  man  like  a  spider  before  the  Almighty  in  a  pro- 
foundly moving  way.  In  axiomatic  mathematical  proposi- 
tions we  find  perhaps  the  least  strong  appeal :  that  the  sum 
of  the  angles  of  a  triangle  is  equal  to  two  right  angles  might 
seem  to  be  divorced  from  all  excitement.  But  in  most  ex- 
position when  emotional  appeal  is  overlooked  the  writing 
suffers. 

In  an  account  of  the  American  Civil  War,  for  example,  the 
writer  might  set  out  to  show  that  the  conflict  was  the  culmi- 
nation of  the  struggle  between  yeoman  and  cavalier  begun 
long  since  in  England.  But  the  war  meant  more  than  that. 
The  author  will  then  see  the  emotional  significance  of  the 
fight  and  will  add  to  his  purpose  the  intention  to  thrill  the 
reader  at  the  magnificent  exhibition,  on  both  sides,  of  devo- 
tion to  an  idea.  So  Emerson,  in  his  essay  on  "Fate"  in  The 
Conduct  of  Life,  fills  the  reader  with  gloom  for  page  after 
page,  detailing  how  thoroughly  the  individual  is  bound  down 
by  conditions  of  birth,  sex,  breeding,  wealth  —  and  then  in 


28  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

two  wonderful  ■entences  he  turns  the  whole  course  of  thought 
and  emotion  by  saying,  "Intellect  annuls  fate.  So  far  as  a 
man  thinks,  he  is  free,"  and  the  reader  is  stirred  as  with  a 
trumpet  call  to  renewed  courage,  which,  to  use  Emerson's 
words,  "neither  brandy,  nor  nectar,  nor  sulphuric  ether, 
nor  hell-fire,  nor  ichor,  nor  poetry,  nor  genius"  can  over- 
come. And  the  historian  Greene,  in  his  well-known  account 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  states  his  controlling  purpose  in  the 
words,  "  Elizabeth  was  at  once  the  daughter  of  Henry  and 
of  Anne  Boleyn."  But  these  words  are  not  the  whole  of 
his  purpose;  he  intends,  besides  the  intellectual  grasping 
of  the  Queen's  character,  an  intense  admiration  and  wonder 
at  the  resourcefulness,  the  shrewd  judgment,  and  a  reaction 
of  amusement  to  the  strange  outbreaks  of  unwomanly  freaks 
or  of  feminine  wiles. 

The  controlling  purpose,  then,  is  almost  always  of  a  dual 
nature;  it  aims  at  both  the  understanding  and  the  emotions. 
Whenever  there  is  any  real  possibility  of  making  it  thus  dou- 
ble the  writer  should  so  express  it  to  himself. 

In  the  following  magazine  article  such  a  double  purpose 
obviously  exists.  First  of  all  there  are  the  facts  of  the 
marching  of  American  troops  through  London.  These  facts 
are  unchangeable.  Baldly  stated,  the  significance  of  the 
fact  is  that  the  New  World  is  coming  to  the  help  of  the 
Old  World  against  the  monster  of  unrestrained  militarism. 
To  a  person  who  regards  life  coldly,  as  the  mere  interplay  of 
calculable  forces,  one  whose  emotions  are  not  concerned,  this 
would  be  a  sufficient  statement  of  the  whole  truth,  of  the 
total  significance.  But  such  writing  would  miss  the  chance 
of  power,  would  be  forever  less  valuable  than  it  ought  to  be, 
for  a  great  warming  of  the  heart  answers  those  footfalls  in 
London  streets.  In  other  words,  just  as  we  have  seen  that 
there  are  two  kinds  of  exposition  —  mere  noting  of  facts 
and  interpreting  of  facts  —  so  we  now  see  that  interpretation 
can  be  either  lifeless,  or  moving,  charged  with  power.    It  is 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  29 

the  old  difference  between  the  drama  and  a  sermon :  the  play 
thrills  and  the  sermon  convinces.  Either  may  add  the  other 
quality  —  a  fine  drama  or  a  well-made  sermon  does.  In 
this  account  of  American  soldiers  in  London  the  truth  is 
made  clear,  but  far  more  than  that  it  is  made  alive,  pul- 
sating with  emotion  of  national  pride,  of  racial  solidarity, 
of  high  moral  purpose.  In  so  far  as  the  writer  succeeds 
in  stirring  us,  in  just  so  far  he  is  more  likely  to  make 
the  truth  take  hold  upon  us  and  bind  us  firmly  in  its  grasp. 
It  is  the  writing  that  both  convinces  and  moves  us  that  is 
lasting,  that  is  really  powerful. 

"SOLEMN-LOOKING  BLOKES"  ^ 

At  midday  on  August  15  I  stood  on  the  pavement  in  Cockspur 
Street  and  watched  the  first  contingent  of  American  troops  pass 
through  London. 

I  had  been  attracted  thither  by  the  lure  of  a  public  "show,"  by 
the  blare  of  a  band,  and  by  a  subconscious  desire  to  pay  tribute  in 
my  small  way  to  a  great  people.  It  was  a  good  day  for  London,  in- 
termittently bright,  with  great  scurrying  masses  of  cumuli  over- 
head, and  a  characteristic  threat  of  rain,  which  fortunately  held 
off.  Cockspur  Street,  as  you  know,  is  a  turning  off  Trafalgar 
Square,  and  I  chose  it  because  the  crowd  was  less  dense  there  than 
in  the  square  itself.  By  getting  behind  a  group  of  shortish  people 
and  by  standing  on  tiptoe  I  caught  a  fleeting  view  of  the  faces  of 
nearly  every  one  of  the  passing  soldiers. 

London  is  schooled  to  shows  of  this  kind.  The  people  gather 
and  wait  patiently  on  the  line  of  route.  And  then  some  genial 
policemen  appear  and  mother  the  people  back  into  some  sort  of 
line,  an  action  performed  with  little  fuss  or  trouble.  Then  mounted 
police  appear,  headed  by  some  fat  official  in  a  cockade  hat  and  with 
many  ribbons  on  his  chest.  And  some  one  in  the  crowd  calls 
out: 

"Hullo,  Percy!     Mind  you  don't  fall  off  yer  'orse!" 

Then  the  hearers  laugh  and  begin  to  be  on  good  terms  with  them- 

'  Stacy  Aumonier,  in  The  Century  Magazine,  December,  1917.  By  courtesy  of  the  pub- 
lisher, The  Century  Company,  New  York  City. 


30  EXPOSITORY  WRITING  ' 

seh'es,  for  they  know  that  the  "show"  is  coming.  Then  follows 
the  inevitable  band,  and  we  begin  to  cheer. 

It  is  very  easy  and  natural  for  a  London  crowd  to  cheer.  I  have 
heard  Kaiser  William  II  cheered  in  the  streets  of  London!  We  al- 
ways cheer  our  guests,  and  we  love  a  band  and  a  "show"  almost  as 
much  as  our  republican  friends  across  the  channel.  I  have  seen 
royal  funerals  and  weddings,  processions  in  honor  of  visiting  presi- 
dents and  kings,  the  return  of  victorious  generals,  processions  of 
Canadian,  Australian,  Indian,  French,  and  Italian  troops  and  bands. 
I  would  n't  miss  these  things  for  worlds.  They  give  color  to  our 
social  life  and  accent  to  our  everj'day  emotions.  It  is,  moreover, 
peculiarly  interesting  to  observe  national  traits  on  a  march:  the 
French,  with  their  exuberant  elan,  throwing  kisses  to  the  women 
as  they  pass;  our  own  Tommies,  who  have  surprised  the  world  with 
their  gayety,  and  keep  up  a  constant  ragging  intercourse  with  the 
crowd  and  cannot  cease  from  singing;  the  Indians,  who  pass  like  a 
splendidly  carved  frieze;  the  Canadians,  who  move  with  a  free 
and  independent  swing  and  grin  m  a  friendly  way;  the  Scotch,  who 
carry  it  off  better  than  any  one.  But  I  had  never  seen  American 
troops,  and  I  was  anxious  to  see  how  they  behaved.  I  said  to  my- 
self, "The  American  is  volatile  and  impressionable,  like  a  child." 
I  had  met  Americans  who  within  an  hour's  acquaintance  had  told 
me  their  life-story,  given  me  their  views  on  religion,  politics,  and 
art,  and  invited  me  to  go  out  to  Iowa  or  Wisconsin  or  California, 
and  spend  the  summer  with  them.  Moreover,  the  American  is 
above  all  things  emotional  and  —  may  I  say  it.''  —  sentimental.  It 
would  therefore  be  extremely  interesting  to  see  how  he  came 
through  this  ordeal. 

The  first  band  passed,  and  the  people  were  waving  flags  and 
handkerchiefs  from  the  windows.  We  could  hear  the  cheers  go  up 
from  the  great  throng  in  the  square.  And  there  at  last,  sure  enough, 
was  Old  Glory,  with  its  silken  tassels  floating  in  the  London  breeze, 
carried  by  a  solemn  giant,  with  another  on  either  side. 

And  then  they  came,  marching  in  fours,  with  their  rifles  at  the 
slope,  the  vanguard  of  Uncle  Sam's  army.  And  we  in  Cockspur 
Street  raised  a  mighty  cheer.  They  were  solemn,  bronzed  men, 
loose  of  limb,  hard,  and  strong,  with  a  curious  set  expression  of 
purpose  about  them. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  31 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

And  they  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left;  nor  did  they 
look  up  or  smile  or  apparently  take  any  notice  of  the  cheers  we 
raised.  We  strained  forward  to  see  their  faces,  and  we  cried  out  to 
them  our  welcome. 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

They  were  not  all  tall;  some  were  short  and  wiry.  Some  of  the 
officers  were  rather  elderly  and  wore  horn  spectacles.  But  they 
did  not  look  at  us  or  raise  a  smile  of  response.  They  held  them- 
selves very  erect,  but  their  eyes  were  cast  down  or  fixed  upon  the 
back  of  the  man  in  front  of  them.  There  came  an  interval,  and 
another  band,  and  then  Old  Glory  once  more,  and  we  cheered  the 
flag  even  more  than  the  men.  Fully  a  thousand  men  passed  in  this 
solemn  procession,  not  one  of  them  smiling  or  looking  up.  It  be- 
came almost  disconcerting.  It  was  a  thing  we  were  not  used  to. 
A  fellow-cockney  near  me  murmured : 

"They're  solemn-looking  blokes,  ain't  they?" 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

The  band  blared  forth  once  more,  a  drum-and-fife  corps  with  a 
vibrant  thrill  behind  it.  We  strained  forward  more  eagerly  to  see 
the  faces  of  our  friends  from  the  New  World.  We  loved  it  best  when 
the  sound  of  the  band  had  died  away  and  the  only  music  was  the 
steady  throb  of  those  friendly  boots  upon  our  London  streets.  And 
still  they  did  not  smile.  I  had  a  brief  moment  of  some  vague  appre- 
hension, as  though  something  could  not  be  quite  right.  Some  such 
wave,  I  think,  was  passing  through  the  crowd.    What  did  it  mean.!^ 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

The  cheers  died  away  for  a  few  moments  in  an  exhausted  di- 
minuendo. Among  those  people,  racked  by  three  years  of  strain 
and  suffering,  there  probably  was  not  one  who  had  not  lost  some 
one  dear  to  them.  Even  the  best  nerves  have  their  limit  of  endur- 
ance. Suddenly  the  ready  voice  of  a  woman  from  the  pavement 
called  out: 

"God  bless  you,  Sammy!" 

And  then  we  cheered  again  in  a  different  key,  and  I  noticed  a  boy 
in  the  ranks  throw  back  his  head  and  look  up.  On  his  face  was  the 
expression  we  see  only  on  the  faces  of  those  who  know  the  finer 
sensibilities  —  a  fierce,  exultant  joy  that  is  very  near  akin  to  tears. 


32  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

And  gradually  I  became  aware  that  on  the  faces  of  these  grim  men 
was  written  an  emotion  almost  too  deep  for  expression. 

As  they  passed  it  was  easy  to  detect  their  ethnological  heritage. 
There  was  the  Anglo-Saxon  type,  perhaps  predominant;  the  Celt; 
the  Slav;  the  Latin;  and  in  many  cases  definitely  the  Teuton:  and 
yet  there  was  not  one  of  them  that  had  not  something  else,  who  was 
not  preeminently  a  good  "United  States  man."  It  was  as  though 
upon  the  anvil  of  the  New  World  all  the  troubles  of  the  Old,  after 
being  passed  through  a  white-hot  furnace,  had  been  forged  into 
something  clear  and  splendid.  And  they  were  hurrying  on  to  get 
this  accomplished.     For  efice  and  all  the  matter  must  be  settled. 

Tramp,  travip,  tramp,  tramp. 

There  was  a  slight  congestion,  and  the  body  of  men  near  me 
halted  and  marked  time.  A  diminutive  officer  with  a  pointed 
beard  was  walking  alone.  A  woman  in  the  crowd  leaned  forward 
and  waved  an  American  flag  in  his  face.  He  saluted,  made  some 
kindly  remark,  and  then  passed  on. 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

The  world  must  be  made  safe  for  democracy. 

And  I  thought  inevitably  of  the  story  of  the  Titan  myth,  of 
Prometheus,  the  first  real  democrat,  who  held  out  against  the  gods 
because  they  despised  humanity.  And  they  nailed  him  to  a  rock, 
and  cut  ofiF  his  eyelids,  and  a  vulture  fed  upon  his  entrails. 

But  Prometheus  held  on,  his  line  of  reasoning  being: 

"After  Uranus  came  Cronus.  After  Cronus  came  Zeus.  After 
Zeus  will  come  other  gods." 

It  is  the  finest  epic  in  human  life,  and  all  the  great  teachers  and 
reformers  who  came  after  told  the  same  story  —  Christ,  Vishnu, 
Confucius,  Mohammed,  Luther,  Shakespeare.  The  fundamental 
basis  of  their  teaching  was  love  and  faith  in  humanity.  And  when- 
ever humanity  is  threatened,  the  fires  which  Prometheus  stole  from 
the  gods  will  burn  more  brightly  in  the  heart  of  man,  and  they  will 
come  from  all  quarters  of  the  world. 

He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible,  swift  sword. 

There  is  no  quarter,  no  mercy,  to  the  enemies  of  humanity. 
There  is  no  longer  a  war;  it  is  a  crusade.     And  as  I  stood  on  the 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  33 

flags  of  Cockspur  Street,  I  think  I  understood  the  silence  of  those 
grim  men.  They  seemed  to  epitomize  not  merely  a  nation,  not 
merely  a  flag,  but  the  unbreakable  sanctity  of  human  rights  and 
human  life.  And  I  knew  that  whatever  might  happen,  whatever 
the  powers  of  darkness  might  devise,  whatever  cunning  schemes  or 
diabolical  plans,  or  whatever  temporary  successes  they  might  at- 
tain, they  would  ultimately  go  down  into  the  dust  before  "the 
fateful  lightning."    "After  Zeus  will  come  other  gods." 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

Nothing  could  live  and  endure  against  that  stcadj^  and  irresisti- 
ble progression.  And  we  know  how  you  can  do  things,  America. 
We  have  seen  your  workshops,  your  factories,  and  your  engines  of 
peace.  And  we  have  seen  those  young  men  of  yours  at  the  Olympic 
Games,  with  their  loose,  supple  limbs,  their  square,  strong  faces. 
When  the  Spartans,  lightly  clad,  but  girt  for  war,  ran  across  the 
hills  to  Athens  and,  finding  the  Persian  hosts  defeated,  laughed, 
and  congratulated  the  Athenians,  and  ran  back  again  —  since 
those  days  there  never  were  such  runners,  such  athletes,  as  these 
boys  of  yours  from  Yale  and  Harvard,  Princeton  and  Cornell. 

And  so  on  that  day,  if  we  cheered  the  flag  more  than  we  cheered 
the  men,  it  was  because  the  flag  was  the  symbol  of  the  men's  hearts, 
which  were  too  charged  with  the  fires  of  Prometheus  to  trust  them- 
selves expression. 

At  least  that  is  how  it  appeared  to  me  on  that  forenoon  in  Cock- 
spur  Street,  and  I  know  that  later  in  the  day,  when  I  met  a  casual 
friend,  and  he  addressed  me  with  the  usual  formula  of  the  day: 

"Any  news?" 

I  was  able  to  say: 

"Yes,  the  best  news  in  the  world." 

And  when  he  replied:  v 

"What  news?" 

I  could  say  with  all  sincerity: 

"I  have  seen  a  portent.     The  world  is  safe  for  democracy." 

Proper  Use  of  the  Controlling  Purpose 

Despite  whatever  of  good  has  been  said  here  about  the 
controlling  purpose,  there  may  lurk  the  suspicion  that  it  is. 


34  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

after  all,  dangerous,  that  perhaps  it  gives  to  a  piece  of  writ- 
ing a  tendency  toward  bias,  partial  interpretation,  even  un- 
fairness, and  that  it  makes  toward  incompleteness.  In  the 
first  place,  in  answering  this  charge,  we  must  remember  that 
facts  as  related  to  people  are  eternally  subject  to  different 
interpretations  according  to  shifting  significance,  which  is 
determined  largely  by  the  individual  to  whom  the  facts  are 
related.  In  the  second  place  we  have  to  remind  ourselves 
that  seldom  does  a  writer  try  to  say  all  that  can  be  said  about 
his  subject.  Much  is  always  either  implied  or  left  to  another 
piece  of  writing.  And  finally,  even  when  an  author  attempts 
perfect  completeness  and  objectivity,  he  usually  addresses 
his  w^ork  to  some  one  in  particular,  even  though  the  "some 
one"  is  as  vague  as  the  general  reading  public;  and  that 
some  one  has  a  particular  attitude  that  must  be  borne  in 
mind. 

In  "Solemn-Looking  Blokes"  not  everything  about  the 
subject  is  said.  From  one  point  of  view  the  tramp  of  Amer- 
ican feet  in  London  streets  signified  that  the  United  States 
had  emerged  from  its  traditional  aloofness  and  had  joined 
the  maincurrentof  the  world;  fromanother,  that  atremendous 
military  preparation  was  going  on  in  America,  the  first  fruits 
of  which  were  those  solemn  ringing  steps;  from  another, 
that  however  Europe  had  professed  to  despise  American 
power,  she  was  now  willing,  eager,  to  accept  American  aid; 
from  another,  that  the  old  enmity  between  Englanci  and 
America  has  been  forgotten  in  the  common  bond  of  like 
ideals  and  racial  traditions.  Each  of  these  possible  mean- 
ings —  and  there  are  more  not  listed  here  —  is  implied  in  the 
treatment  actually  given  to  the  subject.  No  one  of  them  is 
really  developed.  Instead,  we  have  flowering  before  us  the 
idea  that  the  world  is  to  be  made  safe  for  democracy.  No  one 
would  presume  to  declare  that  the  total  possibilities  of  the 
subject  are  here  met  and  explained;  yet  no  one  can  rightly 
say  that  the  chosen  treatment  is  unfair.     Considering  the 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  35 

facts,  the  author,  and  tlie  people  who  would  read  the  article, 
and  their  emotional  connection  with  the  facts,  we  see  that 
the  author  chose  the  purpose  that  seemed  most  useful  — 
to  make  American  hearts  warm  to  the  fact  that  their  country 
was  helping  to  make  the  world  safer  for  all  men  everywhere. 
In  other  words,  facts  are  useful  only  in  so  f a^r  as  they  accom- 
plish some  definite  end,  which,  in  writing,  is  to  make  the 
reader  see  the  truth  as  the  author  thinks  that  he  should  try 
to  make  the  reader  see  it. 

Now,  of  course,  if  the  writer  makes  an  unfair  analysis, 
if  he  blindly  or  willfully  falsifies  in  seeing  or  expressing  his 
subject,  his  writing  is  not  only  useless  but  actually  vicious. 
The  analysis  must  be  correct.  Every  subject  has  its  center 
of  truth,  which  can  be  discovered  by  patient  clear  thinking; 
if  the  thinking  be  either  unclear  or  impatient,  the  interpre- 
tation will  be  false.  If  the  author  of  "Solemn-Looking 
Blokes"  has  made  an  incorrect  estimate,  his  writing  is 
futile.  There  is  no  more  challenging  quest  than  the  search 
for  the  real  truth  at  the  core  of  a  chosen  subject.  Perhaps 
the  very  difiiculty  of  attaining  success  is  what  has  stayed 
many  minds  in  floundering,  timid,  fogginess. 

As  to  the  charge  that  infusion  of  emotional  quality  into 
the  WTiting  produces  bias,  first  of  all  it  must  be  said  that  if 
the  subject  contains  no  emotion,  none  should  be  attempted 
in  the  writing.  In  a  report,  for  example,  of  the  relative 
value  of  different  woods  for  shingles,  an  author  will  hardly  try 
to  infuse  emotion,  for  the  reader  wishes  to  learn,  quickly  and 
easily,  just  what  kind  of  wood  is  the  best.  But  most  sub- 
jects are  not  thus  aloof;  even  the  report  about  shingles  be- 
comes of  vast  significance  to  the  owner  of  extensive  timber 
lands  which  are  suddenly  found  to  be  of  high  value.  All  sub- 
jects which  concern  the  prosperity  and  happiness  of  human- 
ity are  charged  with  emotion;  the  nearer  to  the  great  facts 
of  life,  such  as  birth,  marriage,  death,  food,  shelter,  love, 
hatred,  the  keener  the  emotion.     Who  shall  write  of  prob- 


36  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

lems  of  heredity  and  leave  us  unstirred?  Who  shall  treat 
of  our  vast  irrigation  projects,  which  turn  the  deserts  into 
fair  gardens  and  give  food  to  millions  of  people,  without 
firing  the  imagination?  The  writer's  task  is  to  look  so  clearly 
at  his  subject  that  he  discovers  its  true  value  to  both  brain 
and  heart. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  writing  of  such  subjects  a  writer 
finds  that  words  will  be  emotional,  whether  he  will  have  them 
so  or  not,  that  they  take  sides,  are  charged  with  tendency  and 
fly  toward  or  away  from  an  emotional  quality  with  all  the 
power  of  electricity.  Now,  this  emotional  quality,  when  it 
is  uncontrolled,  is  dangerous.  Words  that  show  tendency 
must  be  guided  with  the  firm  hand  lest  they  lead  the  reader 
into  wrong  impressions  and  into  the  confusion  that  comes 
from  counter  emotions,  the  strong  impression  of  disunion. 
It  is  only  by  relating  these  cross-tendencies  to  a  guiding  idea 
that  they  can  be  made  to  serve  the  author's  purpose.  To 
choose  wisely  a  controlling  purpose  that  recognizes  and 
handles  the  inherent  emotions  of  words  is  merely  to  organize 
inescapable  material.  In  the  following  selection  from  Emer- 
son's "Fate"  we  find  the  emotional  quality  both  high  and 
well-organized.  Such  a  paragraph  might  easily  be  made  to 
confuse  a  reader  hopelessly,  but  Emerson  drives  the  char- 
gers of  his  thought  straight  to  his  goal,  intellectual  and 
emotional,  and  holds  tight  his  reins: 

Nature  is  no  sentimentalist,  —  does  not  cosset  or  pamper  us.  We 
must  see  that  the  world  is  rough  and  surly,  and  will  not  mind 
drowning  a  man  or  a  woman,  but  swallows  your  ship  like  a  grain 
of  dust.  The  cold,  inconsiderate  of  persons,  tingles  your  blood,  be- 
numbs your  feet,  freezes  a  man  like  an  apple.  The  diseases,  the 
elements,  fortune,  gravity,  lightning,  respect  no  persons.  The 
way  of  Providence  is  a  little  rude.  The  habit  of  snake  and  spider, 
the  snap  of  the  tiger  and  other  leapers  and  bloody  jumpers,  the 
crackle  of  the  bones  of  his  prey  in  the  coil  of  the  anaconda,  —  these 
are  in  the  system,  and  our  habits  are  like  theirs.     You  have  just 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  37 

dined,  and  however  the  slaughter-house  is  concealed  in  the  grace- 
ful distance  of  miles,  there  is  comphcity,  expensive  races  —  race 
living  at  the  expense  of  race.  The  planet  is  liable  to  shocks  from 
comets,  perturbations  from  planets,  rendings  from  earthquake  and 
volcano,  alterations  of  climate,  precessions  of  equinoxes.  Rivers 
dry  up  by  opening  of  the  forest.  The  sea  changes  its  bed.  Towns 
and  counties  fall  into  it.  At  Lisbon  an  earthquake  killed  men  like 
flies.  At  Naples  three  years  ago  ten  thousand  persons  were 
crushed  in  a  few  minutes.  The  scurvy  at  sea,  the  sword  of  the 
climate  in  the  west  of  Africa,  at  Cayenne,  at  Panama,  at  New 
Orleans,  cut  off  men  like  a  massacre.  Our  western  prairies  shake 
with  fever  and  ague.  The  cholera,  the  small-pox,  have  proved  as 
mortal  to  some  tribes  as  a  frost  to  crickets,  which,  having  filled 
the  summer  with  noise,  are  silenced  by  the  fall  of  the  temperature  of 
one  night.  Without  uncovering  what  does  not  concern  us,  or  count- 
ing  how  many  species  of  parasites  hang  on  a  bombyx,  or  groping 
after  intestinal  parasites  or  infusory  biters,  or  the  obscurities  of 
alternate  generation,  —  the  forms  of  the  shark,  the  labrits,  the  jaw 
of  the  sea-wolf  paved  with  crushing  teeth,  the  weapons  of  the 
grampus,  and  other  warriors  hidden  in  the  sea,  are  hints  of  ferocity 
in  the  interior  of  nature.  Let  us  not  deny  it  up  and  down.  Prov- 
idence has  a  wild,  rough,  incalculable  road  to  its  end,  and  it  is  of 
no  use  to  try  to  whitewash  its  huge,  mixed  instrumentalities,  or  to 
dress  up  that  terrific  benefactor  in  a  clean  shirt  and  white  neck- 
cloth of  a  student  in  divinity.^ 

Now  this  controlling  purpose,  including  both  the  appeal 
to  the  understanding  and  that  to  the  emotions,  shoidd  be 
stated,  clearly,  before  the  author  begins  his  actual  writing, 
in  one  sentence.  The  value  of  this  is  at  once  apparent :  our 
minds  tend  all  too  much  to  wander  from  subject  to  subject, 
browsing  here  and  there,  without  any  really  directed  feed- 
ing. Now  such  procedure,  though  difficult  to  avoid,  is 
nevertheless  harmful  to  our  writing.  The  edge  of  the  writ- 
ing is  never  so  keen,  the  telling  of  the  message,  whatever  it 

1  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson:  "Fate,"  The  Conduct  of  Life.     Ilougbton  Mifflin  Company, 
publishers,  Boston. 


88  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

may  be,  is  never  so  well  done,  until  we  thoroughly  organize 
and  direct  all  that  we  are  to  say.  In  phrasing  the  control- 
ling purpose  in  one  sentence,  we  make  just  such  an  organiza- 
tion. And  we  have  one  which  is  most  easily  handled,  most 
easily  remembered,  least  likely  to  allow  us  to  escape  into 
empty  wandering.  Even  in  a  long  work  this  should  be  done, 
this  unifying  knot  should  be  tied  in  the  writer's  mind.  Those 
readers  who  rise  from  the  last  pages  of  a  long  historical  work, 
covering  several  volumes  and  hundreds  or  thousands  of 
pages,  with  a  clear  central  conception  of  the  whole  work  are 
profoundly  grateful  to  the  author.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  such 
a  conception  could  not  have  been  given  to  the  reader  had 
not  the  writer,  before  he  wrote  a  word,  formulated  in  a  few 
words  the  goal,  the  aim  of  his  writing.  This  sentence  should 
include  the  emotional  appeal  either  as  stated  in  a  separate 
clause  or  phrase,  or  as  expressed  in  the  choice  of  words  to 
present  the  facts. 

The  amount  of  machinery  that  seems  to  be  required  for 
using  the  controlling  purpose  may  appear  too  much  for 
practical  purposes  in  one  short  lifetime.  The  truth  is  that 
the  actual  finding  of  the  purpose  will  require  much  less 
time,  often,  than  the  explanation  of  the  process  here  has 
needed.  In  a  short  theme  you  will  often  be  able  to  scan  the 
subject  itself,  to  estimate  your  own  reaction  to  the  subject, 
and  to  determine  upon  your  reader  with  remarkable  quick- 
ness. More  frequently  you  will  find  difficulty  in  determin- 
ing the  emotional  quality  of  the  material  and  your  desires. 
But  a  little  practice  will  enable  you  to  do  the  preliminary 
thinking  with  rapidity  and  comfort.  But  if  your  subject  is 
difficult,  and  if  the  effect  is  of  great  importance,  by  no  means 
allow  yourself  to  be  swerved  from  determination  to  find  the 
real  object  which  you  are  seeking,  but  even  at  the  expense 
of  time  and  trouble  state  the  center  of  your  intentions  as 
related  to  the  subject,  yourself,  and  your  reader. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  39 

Practical  Use  of  the  Controlling  Purpose 

We  have  yet  to  answer  the  practical  question :  when  I  sit 
down  to  write,  of  just  what  value  will  the  controlling  pur- 
pose be  to  me  in  the  actual  task  of  expressing  my  ideas? 
How  can  it  really  serve  me  in  my  writing?  The  answer 
is  clear:  the  controlling  purpose  is  of  the  utmost  strategic 
value  in  helping  to  select  and  arrange  material  for  attack 
upon  the  objective,  which  is  the  effect  to  be  created  in  the 
reader's  mind.  Now  the  best  strategy  always  combines  the 
line  of  greatest  advantage  to  the  writer,  the  line  of  least 
resistance  from  the  reader,  and  the  necessities  of  the  subject. 
In  other  words,  what  point  can  I  attack  easiest,  where  is  my 
opponent  weakest,  what  demands  of  the  ground  —  gullies, 
hills,  swamps,  etc.  —  must  I  allow  for?  Sometimes  these 
three  are  more  or  less  mutually  antagonistic;  sometimes 
they  unite  with  the  greatest  helpfulness,  as  we  shall  see. 

Selection  of  Material 

The  first  question  is,  What,  and  how  many,  forces  shall 
I  choose  for  the  attack?  Remember,  we  do  not  now  merely 
attack  in  general,  wherever  we  find  an  enemy.  Instead,  we 
decide  that  our  objective  is,  perhaps,  a  hill  ten  miles  across 
the  enemy's  frontier.  The  taking  of  that  hill  is  our  control- 
Img  purpose.  It  would  be  easiest  for  us  to  use  several 
regiments  of  fresh  young  troops.  But  the  terrain  is  strewn 
with  gullies  and  hillocks,  with  boulders  and  tangled  timber. 
So  we  shall  use  two  regiments  of  veteran  troops  who  are  ac- 
customed to  rough  country,  and  follow  these  with  some  fresh 
youngsters  who  are  endowed  with  sense  and  a  desire  to  outdo 
the  veterans.  Since  the  enemy  has  a  strong  battery,  we 
shall  use  heavy  artillery.  And  since  the  enemy  lacks  ma- 
chine guns,  we  shall  use  many  of  them  and  catch  him  where 
he  is  weak  and  may  be  terrified.    We  could  easily  send  thirty 


40  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

camp  kitchens  to  the  fighting  lines,  but  strategy  demands 
that  they  be  kept  back. 

In  exactly  the  same  way  Mr.  Burroughs  plans  the  essay 
which  follows  this  discussion.  His  controlling  purpose  is 
obviously  to  make  the  reader  understand  the  process  of  bee- 
hunting  in  such  a  way  as  to  be  attracted  to  it  as  a  delightful 
sport.  The  nature  of  the  subject  demands  that  the  several 
steps  in  the  process  be  explained.  Well,  that  suits  Mr. 
Burroughs,  because  he  knows  these  steps.  The  easiest 
method  for  him  is  to  narrate  his  ovm  experiences.  Of  course 
he  could  investigate  the  authorities  on  bee-hunting,  and 
write  a  treatise,  but  that  would  be  more  difficult,  and  more- 
over, it  would  not  meet  the  line  of  least  resistance  from  the 
reader.  To  be  successful,  the  essay  must  overcome  the 
reader's  inertia  and  make  him  feel  that  he  is  actually  sharing 
in  things  that  he  enjoys.  The  selection  is  thus  determined. 
From  his  personal  experience,  as  giving  the  writer  the  great- 
est advantage,  Mr.  Burroughs  chooses.  He  selects  details 
about  the  beauty  of  nature  because  a  reader  would  prefer 
to  have  fine  surroundings.  He  mentions  traits  of  the  bee 
that  are  interesting  or  necessary  to  know.  He  narrates  two 
special  experiences  of  his  own  for  added  attractiveness.  And 
all  the  while,  lest  inertia  raise  its  head,  he  lures  the  reader 
with  the  glimpses  of  pails  full  of  rich  golden  honey.  In  other 
words,  keeping  his  eye  for  his  controlling  purpose,  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs can  easily  select  the  things  that  will  accomplish  that 
purpose  to  his  own  greatest  advantage,  the  reader's  greatest 
ease,  and  according  to  the  demands  of  the  subject. 

You  do  not  find  in  the  essay  a  discussion  of  the  lucrative 
value  of  bees,  nor  of  the  complicated  life  of  the  hive,  nor  of 
the  present  standing  of  the  science  of  bee-keeping.  These 
topics,  however  interesting,  are  not  useful  to  the  controlling 
purpose.  The  standard  is,  not  connection,  but  usefulness. 
"Any  road,"  says  Carlyle,  "this  simple  Entepfuhl  road, 
will  lead  you  to  the  end  of  the  world,"  and  if  you  follow  mere 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  41 

connection  with  your  subjects,  you  will  find  yourself  at  the 
end  of  the  world.  The  practical  helpfulness  of  the  control- 
ling purpose  is  seen  when  you  ask  yourself  the  question, 
"  Does  the  matter  that  I  am  putting  in  this  paragrapli,  this 
sentence,  actually  advance  my  reader  in  thought  or  emotion 
or  both,  nearer  the  point  to  which  I  wish  to  lead  him?" 
Thus  the  question  of  selection  is  answered. 

The  Ordering  of  the  Material 

If  we  could  have  our  own  sweet  will  in  attacking  the  hill 
ten  miles  beyond  the  border,  we  should  ask  the  enemy  to 
stack  his  arms,  and  then,  with  trumpet  and  drum  and  flag 
we  should  sweep  in  and  take  possession.  But  our  sweet  will 
must  give  way  to  necessity.  Since  unscalable  crags  lie 
ahead,  we  shall  have  to  go  round  to  the  rear  of  the  hill. 
Since  we  must  cross  a  swamp,  engineers  must  precede  and 
build  a  road.  Though  we  should  like  to  crawl  up  a  wide 
valley  on  the  other  side,  we  must  choose  a  smaller  one,  be- 
cause the  enemy  could  wither  us  away  in  the  larger  one. 
And,  to  tfick  the  enemy,  we  shall  perhaps  open  fire  far  off 
on  the  left,  while  we  are  stealing  out  to  the  right,  and  thus 
we  may  take  him  off  his  guard.  Our  purpose  of  securing  that 
hill  makes  these  things  necessary. 

Similarly,  in  writing,  we  may  sometimes  employ  the  order 
of  greatest  advantage,  but  more  often  we  must  modify  this 
order  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  subject  and  to  rouse 
the  least  resistance  from  the  reader.  In  Stevenson's  essay, 
"Pulvis  et  Umbra,"  part  of  which  follows  the  essay  by  Mr. 
Burroughs,  the  author  used  the  method  of  greatest  advan- 
tage. His  object  is  to  thrill  the  reader  at  the  thought  that 
mankind  constantly  strives  in  spite  of  all  his  failures.  Several 
orders  are  possible :  he  could  treat  of  the  striving  alone,  neg- 
lecting the  failure;  he  could  treat  the  striving  first  and  then 
the  failure,  or  vice  versa,  and  so  on.  He  saw  that  he  would 
gain  his  purpose  best  if  he  treated  failure  first,  until  he  had 


42  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

fairly  overwhelmed  the  reader,  and  then  suddenly  shifted 
and  showed  that  in  spite  of  all  this  failure  man  still  strives. 
He  had  to  run  the  risk  of  ofiFending  the  reader  at  the  begin- 
ning by  his  insistence  upon  failure,  and  thus  rousing  the  read- 
er's possible  great  resistance.  For  we  do  not  like  to  read  un- 
pleasant things.  But  he  took  the  chance,  knowing  that  if, 
by  skillful  use  of  words  he  could  persuade  the  reader  through 
the  first  part,  he  could  easily  thrill  him  with  the  reaction. 
For  it  makes  a  great  difference  whether  we  say,  "In  spite 
of  striving,  man  always  fails,"  or  "In  spite  of  failure,  man 
always  strives."  The  selection  from  the  essay  which  ap- 
pears here  is  taken  from  the  middle.  It  is  interesting  to 
note  that  the  first  two  sentences  of  the  essay  read:  "We 
look  for  some  reward  of  our  endeavors  and  are  disappointed; 
not  success,  not  happiness,  not  even  peace  of  conscience, 
crowns  our  ineffectual  efforts  to  do  well.  Our  frailties  are 
invincible,  our  virtues  barren;  the  battle  goes  sore  against 
us  to  the  going  down  of  the  sun."  And  the  words  of  the 
final  sentence  of  the  essay  are:  "Let  it  be  enough  for  faith, 
that  the  whole  creation  groans  in  mortal  frailty,  strives  with 
unconquerable  constancy:  surely  not  all  in  vain." 

In  the  essay  by  Mr.  Burroughs  the  author's  advantage 
and  the  reader's  acquiescence  largely  coincide,  so  that  the 
author  can  at  once  begin  with  remarks  about  the  attractive- 
ness of  the  hunt,  the  delights  of  its  successful  conclusion. 
To  discuss  at  once  the  possibility  of  being  stung  would  have 
been  unwise,  because  unpleasant,  and  the  controlling  pur- 
pose of  the  essay  is  to  attract.  Later,  this  topic  can  safely 
be  tucked  in. 

Mr.  Wilson's  war  messages  showed  a  combination  of  the 
lines  of  greatest  advantage  and  of  least  resistance  with  the 
nature  of  the  historical  events.  These  messages  began  with 
a  series  of  facts  which,  obviously  true,  would  rouse  no  resist- 
ance and  would  at  the  same  time  insert  some  resentment 
against  Germany,  the  very  thing  that  the  author  wished  to 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  43 

do.  Then  they  followed  the  strict  chronological  order,  as  if 
the  author  were  pursuing  a  course  already  mapped  for  him 
—  which,  of  course,  he  was  not  doing.  With  the  controlling 
purpose  of  showing  that  America's  entrance  into  the  war 
was  occasioned  entirely  by  Germany's  actions,  he  then  pro- 
ceeded to  base  the  proposals  of  the  messages  upon  the  very- 
facts  that  the  readers  had  already  accepted  in  accordance 
with  his  ultimate  point  of  view.  Such  skillful  manipulation 
deserved  the  success  that  the  messages  met. 

All  three  of  these  examples  gain  their  point,  their  ob- 
jective. They  do  this  largely  because  the  authors  knew 
exactly  what  they  wished  to  do,  what  their  controlling  pur- 
poses were,  and  then  marshaled  their  material  so  as  to  ac- 
complish this  end.  Some  of  the  topics  that  are  subordinated, 
such,  for  example,  as  the  possibility  of  being  stung,  are  as 
important  as  others  which  are  magnified,  such  as  the  beauty 
of  nature  —  that  is,  they  are  as  important  in  an  impersonal 
way.  As  soon  as  the  controlling  purpose  is  known,  however, 
they  immediately  become  dangerous  unless  so  placed  as  to 
bring  the  reader  nearer  the  goal  and  not  to  push  him  from  it. 
The  point  is  that  knowing  the  controlling  puq)Ose,  that  is, 
having  thought  out  beforehand  exactly  what  you  wish  to  do 
with  subject  and  reader,  you  are  at  once  aware  of  both  helps 
and  obstacles,  and  can  make  use  of  the  one,  avoid  the  other. 

Thus  you  will  consider  both  the  reader's  ease  and  his 
prejudices.  If  you  are  to  write  of  abstruse  matters,  of  some 
question  in  philosophy  or  ethics  or  religion,  in  order  to  carry 
your  reader  with  you  you  will  begin  with  things  that  he  can 
understand,  and  thus  pave  a  highway  into  the  misty  lands 
where  you  desire  to  take  him.  Failure  of  some  eminent  phi- 
losophers to  receive  recognition  has  been  due  to  their  lack  of 
a  comprehensive  controlling  purpose,  to  their  restricting  at- 
tention to  the  subject  alone  regardless  of  the  reader.  In  set- 
ting forth  the  principle  of  the  machinery  that  digs  tunnels 
under  rivers  Mr.  Brooks  in   The   Wcb-foot  Engineer  first 


44  'EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

shows  how  a  boy  digs  a  tunnel  into  a  sand  bank,  and  then 
proceeds,  with  the  reader's  understanding  assured,  to  the 
more  complex  but  still  similar  operation  under  the  river. 
In  explaining  inductive  reasoning,  with  the  controlling  pur- 
pose of  making  it  seem  both  frequent  and  natural,  Huxley 
showed  first  how  we  reason  practically  about  the  nature 
of  apples  in  a  basket  at  the  grocer's.  The  reader's  resist- 
ance is  thus  avoided  and  the  writer's  advantage  is  in- 
creased. 

A  shrewd  controlling  purpose  also  makes  allowance  for 
the  reader's  prejudices.  You  ought  to  take  as  much  care 
to  cajole  your  reader  into  following  you  as  the  cook  does 
to  make  Qs  happy  to  the  final  morsel.  After  ices  and  cakes 
and  coffee  a  roast  or  a  soup  is  positively  offensive;  the  cook 
wisely  wins  the  battle  of  the  spit  and  the  dripping  pan  while 
the  epicure  is  still  receptive.  So,  if  you  are  to  explain  democ- 
racy in  a  state  where  the  recall  of  judges  is  practiced  to  an 
aristocrat  who  distrusts  the  "common  herd"  and  is  easily 
ruffled,  you  will  do  well  to  preface  discussion  of  this  recall 
with  w^ords  about  the  general  excellence  of  life  in  the  state 
and  then,  when  your  reader  is  in  a  mood  of  acceptance,  pass 
to  the  possibly  offensive  topic.  Without  knowing  just  what 
you  wish  to  accomplish,  you  are  likely  to  wTite  in  what  may 
seem  a  dogged,  defiant  mood  that  intends  to  strike  right  and 
left,  hoping  to  wallow  through  to  victory. 

If  between  us  and  the  enemy's  fort  is  a  stream  which  needs 
pontoons  for  crossing,  and  we  blindly  start  out  marching 
up  toward  victory  with  no  pontoons,  we  shall  perhaps  sail 
away  to  sea,  but  shall  also  probably  not  win  the  fort.  If  we 
insist  upon  keeping  our  platoon  as  rigidly  straight,  even 
while  we  climb  hills  through  the  woods,  as  ever  a  line  was 
kept  at  West  Point,  we  shall  come  to  grief.  So,  if  the  logic  of 
the  subject  has  imperious  demands,  the  controlling  purpose 
must  make  count  of  them.  William  James  in  his  essay,  "  The 
Moral  Equivalent  of  War,"  saw  that  before  a  reader  could 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  45 

understand  how  civic  work  could  be  a  moral  equivalent,  he 
must  see  what  the  morality  of  war  is.  The  subject  demands 
this.  In  an  account  of  the  United  States  Government  it 
might  be  logically  necessary  to  state  and  explain  first  the 
theory  of  checks  and  balances  before  the  relations  of  execu- 
tive, legislative,  and  judicial  branches  could  be  properly  es- 
timated. Wisely  chosen,  the  controlling  purpose  of  such  an 
account  would  make  this  fact  at  once  evident. 

Constantly  keeping  in  mind,  in  planning  and  composing 
an  article,  what  the  objective  is,  makes  even  the  individual 
paragraphs  and  sentences  more  successful.  If  you  will  ex- 
amine the  paragraphs  in  "Pulvis  et  Umbra,"  you  will  ob- 
serve, pretty  uniformly,  at  the  beginning  and  end  of  each,  a 
strong  statement  of  the  message  of  the  paragraph,  sentences 
of  high  emotional  value.  Each  paragraph  definitely  advances 
the  cause  of  the  controlling  purpose.  Even  the  sentences 
—  an  example  of  a  sentence  uncontrolled  occurs  in  Mr.  Ham- 
lin Garland's  book,  A  Son  of  the  Middle  Border:  "  It  stood 
on  the  bank  of  a  wide  river  and  had  all  the  value  of  a  seaport 
to  me,  for  in  summer-time  great  hoarsely  bellowing  steam- 
boats came  and  went  from  its  quay,  and  all  about  it  rose  high 
wooded  hills."  The  final  item  about  the  hills  is  in  no  way 
necessary,  does  not  even  help  to  give  the  feeling  of  a  seaport, 
which  more  often  than  not  lacks  high  hills.  A  sentence 
from  Stevenson  is  in  contrast:  "The  sun  upon  my  shoulders 
warmed  me  to  the  heart,  and  I  stooped  forward  and  plunged 
into  the  sea."  In  this  sentence  facts,  rhythm,  even  the  sound 
of  the  words  drive  in  one  direction. 

Without  being  too  dogmatic  —  for  every  problem  in  writ- 
ing is  new  and  not  infrequently  a  law  to  itself  —  you  may  be 
sure  that  if  you  have  a  definite  controlling  purpose,  and 
know  well  what  it  is,  you  will  be  more  likely  to  attain  suc- 
cess with  subject  and  with  reader  when  you  come  to  the 
ordering  of  your  material. 

Finally,  since  strategy  suggests  that  we  attack  the  weak- 


46  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

est  places  in  the  enemy's  defense,  we  shall  do  well,  unless  the 
logic  of  the  subject  or  the  reader's  prejudice  demand  other- 
wise, to  make  our  strongest  blows  when  the  enemy,  the 
reader,  is  least  prepared,  that  is,  at  the  beginning  and  the 
end.  Success  in  writing  depends  so  much  upon  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  reader's  mind,  that  an  attaque  brusque  at  first 
to  insert  important  things,  and  a  strong  reinforcement  at 
the  end,  when  the  reader  is  pricking  up  his  ears  at  the  coming 
final  period,  form  a  wise  strategy.  If,  in  order  to  understand 
one  point,  another  is  necessary,  or  to  avoid  irritation,  a 
roundabout  method  is  advisable,  the  path  is  plain.  Wlien 
these  accidents  do  not  obtain,  the  reader's  understanding 
will  be  most  easily  won  at  the  beginning  and  the  end.  At 
these  points  you  must  see  to  it  that  the  reader  is  guided, 
with  the  first  word,  toward  the  emotional  tone  that  your 
controlling  purpose  demands,  and  toward  some  important 
idea  that  bolsters  this  purpose,  even  if,  as  we  have  seen 
Stevenson  do,  you  seem  to  be  at  first  flying  away  from  the 
purpose  which  we  later  discover.  Thus  Mr.  Taft,  in  an 
article  entitled  "Present  Relations  of  the  Learned  Profes- 
sions to  Political  Government,"  places  the  ministry  at  the 
beginning  and  the  law  at  the  end.  His  controlling  purpose 
is  to  make  the  reader  believe  that  every  profession  offers 
large  chance  for  the  conscientious  man  to  be  of  use  to  the 
political  government.  Consequently  he  chooses  the  two 
that  he  thinks  most  important,  and  of  these  places  the  less 
important  at  the  beginning  and  the  more  important  at  the 
end.  In  this  way  he  succeeds  at  once  in  turning  the  reader 
as  he  wishes,  and  leaves  him  also  with  the  strongest  possible 
bias  toward  belief.  And  since  these  two  professions  offer 
the  greatest  chance  for  victory  for  his  controlling  purpose,  he 
gives  them  much  more  space  than  to  the  others,  almost  three 
times  as  much  to  law,  for  instance,  as  to  teaching. 

Moreover,  since  the  emotions  are  affected  in  much  writing, 
the  skilled  strategist  will  instantly  bear  in  mind  just  what 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  47 

emotion  he  wishes  to  rouse,  and  will  see  that  the  ideas  of 
greater  moving  value  receive  larger  development.  Mr. 
Burroughs  gives  much  more  space  to  the  sections  that  deal 
with  the  excitement  and  the  joy  of  bee-hunting  than  to  those 
that  deal  with  the  less  pleasant  side.  To  the  difficulty  of 
detecting  the  flight  of  a  bee  he  gives  the  single  sentence: 
"Sometimes  one's  head  will  swim  following  it,  and  often 
one's  eyes  are  put  out  by  the  sun."  To  the  interesting  ac- 
tions of  the  bee  when  it  is  caught  he  gives  at  least  ten  times 
as  much  space.  In  this  way  he  guides  the  reader's  emotions 
in  the  way  he  wishes  them  to  go  —  and  makes  successful 
writing. 

The  chief  strategic  problem  in  exposition,  then,  is  that 
of  so  choosing  and  arranging  the  material  that  the  point  of 
the  writing  is  made  with  the  proper  emphasis.  For  the  ac- 
complishment of  this  purpose  the  writer  must  be  able  to 
answer  the  question,  "What  do  I  wish  to  do  in  this  piece  of 
writing  ?  "  Then  he  must  bring  all  the  material  and  its  expres- 
sion to  bear  upon  the  reader's  mind  so  that  the  desired  end  may 
be  inevitable.  To  determine  what  his  purpose  is  the  writer 
must  consult  the  subject  itself,  his  own  personality,  and 
the  reader.  He  must  also  bear  in  mind  the  reader's  intellect 
and  his  emotions.  And  he  must  unify  the  approach  to  both 
intellect  and  emotions.  The  firmly  held  conception  of  what 
his  purpose  is  will  determine  what  material  he  is  to  choose 
—  what  is  useful  and  what  is  not  —  and  also  how  to  arrange 
this  material  and  how  to  proportion  the  space  that  different 
sections  shall  have.  He  will  arrange  the  material  for  the 
greatest  advantage  to  himself  and  the  least  resistance  from 
the  reader.  In  other  words,  to  make  his  writing  successful 
in  the  sense  of  accomplishing  its  end,  the  writer  must,  before 
he  sets  down  a  single  word,  decide  upon  what  his  controlling 
purpose  is  to  be  and  just  how  he  intends  to  make  material 
and  expression  —  even  in  the  individual  sentence  —  unite 
to  drive  in  the  one  direction  of  that  controlUng  purpose. 


48  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

AN  IDYL  OF  THE  HONEY-BEE  i 

John  Burroughs 

One  looks  upon  the  woods  with  a  new  interest  when  he  suspects 
they  hold  a  colony  of  bees.  What  a  pleasing  secret  it  is ;  a  tree  with 
a  heart  of  comb-honey,  a  decayed  oak  or  maple  with  a  bit  of  Sicily 
or  Mount  Hymettus  stowed  away  in  its  trunk  or  branches;  secret 
chambers  where  lies  hidden  the  wealth  of  ten  thousand  little  free- 
booters, great  nuggets  and  wedges  of  precious  ore  gathered  with  risk 
and  labor  from  every  field  and  wood  about. 

But  if  you  would  loiow  the  delights  of  bee-hunting,  and  how 
many  sweets  such  a  trip  yields  beside  honey,  come  with  me  some 
bright,  warm,  late  September  or  early  October  day.  It  is  the  golden 
season  of  the  year,  and  any  errand  or  pursuit  that  takes  us  abroad 
upon  the  hills  or  by  the  painted  woods  and  along  the  amber  colored 
streams  at  such  a  time  is  enough.  So,  with  haversacks  filled  with 
grapes  and  peaches  and  apples  and  a  bottle  of  mUk,  —  for  we  shall 
not  be  home  to  dinner,  —  and  armed  with  a  compass,  a  hatchet,  a 
pail,  and  a  box  with  a  piece  of  comb-honey  neatly  fitted  into  it  — • 
any  box  the  size  of  your  hand  with  a  lid  will  do  nearly  as  well  as  the 
elaborate  and  ingenious  contrivance  of  the  regular  bee-hunter  — • 
we  sally  forth.  Our  course  at  first  lies  along  the  highway,  under 
great  chestnut-trees  whose  nuts  are  just  dropping,  then  through 
an  orchard  and  across  a  little  creek,  thence  gently  rismg  through 
a  long  series  of  cultivated  fields  toward  some  high,  uplying  land, 
behind  which  rises  a  rugged  wooded  ridge  or  mountain,  the  most 
sightly  point  in  all  this  section.  Behind  this  ridge  for  several 
miles  the  coimtry  is  wUd,  wooded,  and  rocky,  and  is  no  doubt  the 
home  of  many  wild  swarms  of  bees. 

After  a  refreshing  walk  of  a  couple  of  miles  we  reach  a  point  where 
we  will  make  our  first  trial  —  a  high  stone  wall  that  runs  parallel 
with  the  wooded  ridge  referred  to,  and  separated  from  it  by  a  broad 
field.  There  are  bees  at  work  there  on  that  goldenfod,  and  it 
requires  but  little  manoeuvring  to  sweep  one  into  our  box.  Almost 
any  other  creature  rudely  and  suddenly  arrested  in  its  career  and 
clapped  into  a  cage  in  this  way  would  show  great  confusion  and 
alarm.     The  bee  is  alarmed  for  a  moment,  but  the  bee  has  a  pas- 

1  John  Burroughs:  Pepacton,    Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  publishers,  Boston. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  49 

sion  stronger  than  its  love  of  life  or  fear  of  death,  namely,  desire  for 
honey,  not  simply  to  eat,  but  to  carry  home  as  booty.  "Such  rage 
of  honey  in  their  bosom  beats,"  says  Virgil.  It  is  quick  to  catch  the 
scent  of  honey  in  the  box,  and  as  quick  to  fall  to  filling  itself.  We 
now  set  the  box  down  upon  the  wall  and  gently  remove  the  cover. 
The  bee  is  head  and  shoulders  in  one  of  the  half-filled  cells,  and  is 
oblivious  to  everything  else  about  it.  Come  rack,  come  ruin,  it  will 
die  at  work.  We  step  back  a  few  paces,  and  sit  down  upon  the 
ground  so  as  to  bring  the  box  against  the  blue  sky  as  a  background. 
In  two  or  three  minutes  the  bee  is  seen  rising  slowly  and  heavily 
from  the  box.  It  seems  loath  to  leave  so  much  honey  behind  and 
it  marks  the  place  well.  It  mounts  aloft  in  a  rapidly  increasing 
spiral,  surveying  the  near  and  minute  objects  first,  then  the  larger 
and  more  distant,  till  having  circled  about  the  spot  five  or  six  times 
and  taken  all  its  bearings  it  darts  away  for  home.  It  is  a  good  eye 
that  holds  fast  to  the  bee  till  it  is  fairly  off.  Sometimes  one's  head 
will  swim  following  it,  and  often  one's  eyes  are  put  out  by  the  sun. 
This  bee  gradually  drifts  down  the  hill,  then  strikes  away  toward 
a  farm-house  half  a  mile  away,  where  I  know  bees  are  kept.  Then 
we  try  another  and  another,  and  the  third  bee,  much  to  our  satis- 
faction, goes  straight  toward  the  woods.  We  could  see  the  brown 
speck  against  the  darker  background  for  many  yards. 

A  bee  will  usually  make  three  or  four  trips  from  the  hunter's 
box  before  it  brings  back  a  companion.  I  suspect  the  bee  does  not 
tell  its  fellows  what  it  has  found,  but  that  they  smell  out  the  secret; 
it  doubtless  bears  some  evidence  with  it  upon  its  feet  or  proboscis 
that  it  has  been  upon  honey-comb  and  not  upon  flowers,  and  its 
companions  take  the  hint  and  follow,  arriving  always  many  seconds 
behind.  Then  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  booty  would  also 
betray  it.  No  doubt,  also,  there  are  plenty  of  gossips  about  a  hive 
that  note  and  tell  everything.  "Oh,  did  you  see  that?  Peggy  Mel 
came  in  a  few  moments  ago  in  great  haste,  and  one  of  the  up-stairs 
packers  says  she  was  loaded  till  she  groaned  with  apple-blossom 
honey  which  she  deposited,  and  then  rushed  off  again  like  mad. 
Apple  blossom  honey  in  October!  Fee,  fi,  fo,  fum!  I  smell  some- 
thing! Let's  after." 

"In  about  half  an  hour  we  have  three  well-defined  lines  of  bees 
established  —  two  to  farm-houses  and  one  to  the  woods,  and  our 


50  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

box  is  being  rapidly  depleted  of  its  honey.  About  every  fourth  bee 
goes  to  the  woods,  and  now  that  they  have  learned  the  way  thor- 
oughly they  do  not  make  the  long  preliminary  whirl  above  the  box, 
but  start  directly  from  it.  The  woods  are  rough  and  dense  and  the 
hill  steep,  and  we  do  not  like  to  follow  the  line  of  bees  until  we  have 
tried  at  least  to  settle  the  problem  as  to  the  distance  they  go  into 
the  woods  —  whether  the  tree  is  on  this  side  of  the  ridge  or  in  the 
depth  of  the  forest  on  the  other  side.  So  we  shut  up  the  box  when 
it  is  full  of  bees  and  carry  it  about  three  hundred  yards  along  the 
wall  from  which  we  are  operating.  When  liberated,  the  bees,  as 
they  always  will  in  such  cases,  go  oflf  in  the  same  directions  they 
have  been  going;  they  do  not  seem  to  know  that  they  have  been 
moved.  But  other  bees  have  followed  our  scent,  and  it  is  not  many 
minutes  before  a  second  line  to  the  woods  is  established.  This  is 
called  cross-lining  the  bees.  The  new  line  makes  a  sharp  angle 
with  the  other  line,  and  we  know  at  once  that  the  tree  is  only  a  few 
rods  into  the  woods.  The  two  lines  we  have  established  form 
two  sides  of  a  triangle  of  which  the  wall  is  the  base;  at  the  apex  of 
the  triangle,  or  where  the  two  lines  meet  in  the  woods,  we  are  sure 
to  find  the  trees.  We  quickly  follow  up  these  lines,  and  where  they 
cross  each  other  on  the  side  of  the  hill  we  scan  every  tree  closely. 
I  pause  at  the  foot  of  an  oak  and  examine  a  hole  near  the  root;  now 
the  bees  are  in  this  tree  and  their  entrance  is  on  the  upper  side 
near  the  ground,  not  two  feet  from  the  hole  I  peer  into,  and  yet  so 
quiet  and  secret  is  their  going  and  coming  that  I  fail  to  discover 
them  and  pass  on  up  the  hill.  Failing  in  this  direction,  I  return 
to  the  oak  again,  and  then  perceive  the  bees  going  out  in  a  small 
crack  in  the  tree.  The  bees  do  not  know  they  are  found  out  and 
that  the  game  is  in  our  hands,  and  are  as  oblivious  of  our  presence 
as  if  we  were  ants  or  crickets.  The  indications  are  that  the  swarm 
is  a  small  one,  and  the  store  of  honey  trifling.  In  "taking  up"  a 
bee-tree  it  is  usual  first  to  kill  or  stupefy  the  bees  with  the  fumes  of 
burning  sulphur  or  with  tobacco  smoke.  But  this  course  is  im- 
practicable on  the  present  occasion,  so  we  boldly  and  ruthlessly  as- 
sault the  tree  with  an  axe  we  have  procured.  At  the  first  blow  the 
bees  set  up  a  loud  buzzing,  but  we  have  no  mercy,  and  the  side  of 
the  cavity  is  soon  cut  away  and  the  interior  with  its  white-yellow 
mass  of  comb-honey  is  exposed,  and  not  a  bee  strikes  a  blow  in  de- 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  51 

fense  of  its  all.  This  may  seem  singular,  but  it  has  nearly  always 
been  my  experience.  When  a  swarm  of  bees  are  thus  rudely  as- 
saulted with  an  axe,  they  evidently  think  the  end  of  the  world  has 
come,  and,  like  true  misers  as  they  are,  each  one  seizes  as  much  of 
the  treasure  as  it  can  hold;  in  other  words,  they  all  fall  to  and  gorge 
themselves  with  honey,  and  calmlj''  await  the  issue.  When  in  this 
condition  they  make  no  defense  and  will  not  sting  unless  taken  hold 
of.  In  fact  they  are  as  harmless  as  flies.  Bees  are  always  to  be 
managed  with  boldness  and  decision. 

Any  halfway  measures,  any  timid  poking  about,  any  feeble  at- 
tempts to  reach  their  honey,  are  sure  to  be  quickly  resented.  The 
popular  notion  that  bees  have  a  special  antipathy  toward  certain 
persons  and  a  liking  for  certain  others  has  only  this  fact  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it;  they  will  sting  a  person  who  is  afraid  of  them  and  goes 
skulking  and  dodging  about,  and  they  will  not  sting  a  person  who 
faces  them  boldly  and  has  no  dread  of  them.  They  are  like  dogs. 
The  way  to  disarm  a  vicious  dog  is  to  show  him  you  do  not  fear 
him;  it  is  his  turn  to  be  afraid  then.  I  never  had  any  dread  of 
bees  and  am  seldom  stung  by  them.  I  have  climbed  up  into  a  large 
chestnut  that  contained  a  swarm  in  one  of  its  cavities  and  chopped 
them  out  with  an  axe,  being  obliged  at  times  to  pause  and  brush 
the  bewildered  bees  from  my  hands  and  face,  and  not  been  stung 
once.  I  have  chopped  a  swarm  out  of  an  apple-tree  in  June  and 
taken  out  the  cards  of  honey  and  arranged  them  in  a  hive,  and  then 
dipped  out  the  bees  with  a  dipper,  and  taken  the  whole  home  with 
me  in  pretty  good  condition,  with  scarcely  any  opposition  on 
the  part  of  the  bees.  In  reaching  your  hand  into  the  cavity  to 
detach  and  remove  the  comb  you  are  pretty  sure  to  get  stung, 
for  when  you  touch  the  "business  end"  of  a  bee,  it  will  sting  even 
though  its  head  be  off.  But  the  bee  carries  the  antidote  to  its  own 
poison.  The  best  remedy  for  bee  sting  is  honey,  and  when  your 
hands  are  besmeared  with  honey,  as  they  are  sure  to  be  on  such  oc- 
casions, the  wound  is  scarcely  more  painful  than  the  prick  of  a  pin. 

When  a  bee- tree  is  thus  "taken  up"  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
of  course  a  good  many  bees  are  away  from  home  and  have  not  heard 
the  news.  WTien  they  return  and  find  the  ground  flowing  with 
honey,  and  pUes  of  bleeding  combs  lying  about,  they  apparently 
do  not  recognize  the  place,  and  their  first  instinct  is  to  fall  to  and 


52  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

fill  themselves;  this  clone,  their  next  thought  is  to  carry  it  home, 
so  they  rise  up  slowly  through  the  branches  of  the  trees  till  they 
have  attained  an  altitude  that  enables  them  to  survey  the  scene, 
when  they  seem  to  say,  "Why,  this  is  home"  and  down  they  come 
again;  beholding  the  wreck  and  ruins  once  more  they  still  think 
there  is  some  mistake,  and  get  up  a  second  or  a  third  time  and  then 
drop  back  pitifully  as  before.  It  is  the  most  pathetic  sight  of  all, 
the  surviving  and  bewildered  bees  struggling  to  save  a  few  drops 
of  their  wasted  treasures. 

Presently,  if  there  is  another  swarm  in  the  woods,  robber-bees 
appear.  You  may  know  them  by  their  saucy,  chiding,  devil-may- 
care  hum.  It  is  an  ill-wind  that  blows  nobody  good,  and  they 
make  the  most  of  the  misfortune  of  their  neighbors;  and  thereby 
pave  the  way  for  their  own  ruin.  The  hunter  marks  their  course 
and  the  next  day  looks  them  up.  On  this  occasion  the  day  was  hot 
and  the  honey  very  fragrant,  and  a  line  of  bees  was  soon  established 
S.S.W.  Though  there  was  much  refuse  honey  in  the  old  stub, 
and  though  little  golden  rills  trickled  down  the  hill  from  it,  and 
the  near  branches  and  saplings  were  besmeared  with  it  where  we 
wiped  our  murderous  hands,  yet  not  a  drop  was  wasted.  It  was  a 
feast  to  which  not  only  honey-bees  came,  but  bumble-bees,  wasps, 
hornets,  flies,  ants.  The  bumble-bees,  which  at  this  season  are 
hungry  vagrants  with  no  fixed  place  of  abode,  would  gorge  them- 
selves, then  creep  beneath  the  bits  of  empty  comb  or  fragment  of 
bark  and  pass  the  night,  and  renew  the  feast  next  day.  The  bumble- 
bee is  an  insect  of  which  the  bee-hunter  sees  much.  There  are  all 
sorts  and  sizes  of  them.  They  are  dull  and  clumsy  compared  with 
the  honey-bee.  Attracted  in  the  fields  by  the  bee-hunter's  box, 
they  will  come  up  the  wind  on  the  scent  and  blunder  into  it  in  the 
most  stupid,  lubberly  fashion. 

The  honey-bee  that  licked  up  our  leavings  on  the  old  stub 
belonged  to  a  swarm,  as  it  proved,  about  half  a  mile  farther  down 
the  ridge,  and  a  few  days  afterward  fate  overtook  them,  and 
their  stores  in  turn  became  the  prey  of  another  swarm  in  the 
vicinity,  which  also  tempted  Providence  and  were  overwhelmed. 
The  first  mentioned  swarm  I  had  lined  from  several  points,  and  was 
following  up  the  clue  over  rocks  and  through  gulleys,  when  I  came 
to  where  a  large  hemlock  had  been  felled  a  few  years  before  and  a 


•  HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  53 

swarm  taken  from  a  cavity  near  the  top  of  it;  fragments  of  the  old 
comb  were  yet  to  be  seen.  A  few  yards  away  stood  another  short, 
squatty  hemlock,  and  I  said  my  bees  ought  to  be  there.  As  I 
paused  near  it  I  noticed  where  the  tree  had  been  wounded  with  an 
axe  a  couple  of  feet  from  the  ground  many  years  before.  The  wound 
had  partially  grown  over,  but  there  was  an  opening  there  that  I  did 
not  see  at  the  first  glance.  I  was  about  to  pass  on  when  a  bee 
passed  me  making  that  peculiar  shrill,  discordant  hum  that  a  bee 
makes  when  besmeared  with  honey.  I  saw  it  alight  in  the  partially 
closed  wound  and  crawl  home;  then  came  others  and  others,  little 
bands  and  squads  of  them  heavily  freighted  with  honey  from  the 
box.  The  tree  was  about  twenty  inches  through  and  hollow  at 
the  butt,  or  from  the  axe  mark  down.  This  space  the  bees  had  com- 
pletely filled  with  honey.  With  an  axe  we  cut  away  the  outer  ring 
of  live  wood  and  exposed  the  treasure.  Despite  the  utmost  care, 
we  wounded  the  comb  so  that  little  rUls  of  the  golden  liquid  issued 
from  the  root  of  the  tree  and  trickled  down  the  hill. 

The  other  bee-tree  in  the  vicinity,  to  which  I  have  referred,  we 
found  one  warm  November  day  in  less  than  half  an  hour  after  en- 
tering the  woods.  It  also  was  a  hemlock,  that  stood  in  a  niche  in 
a  wall  of  hoary,  moss-covered  rocks  thirty  feet  high.  The  tree 
hardly  reached  to  the  top  of  the  precipice.  The  bees  entered  a 
small  hole  at  the  root,  which  was  seven  or  eight  feet  from  the  ground. 
The  position  was  a  striking  one.  Never  did  apiary  have  a  finer 
outlook  or  more  rugged  surroimdings.  A  black,  wood-embraced 
lake  lay  at  our  feet;  the  long  panorama  of  the  Catskills  filled  the 
far  distance,  and  the  more  broken  outlines  of  the  Shawangunk 
range  filled  the  near.  On  every  hand  were  precipices  and  a  wild 
confusion  of  rocks  and  trees. 

The  cavity  occupied  by  the  bees  was  about  three  feet  and  a  half 
long  and  eight  or  ten  inches  in  diameter.  With  an  axe  we  cut 
away  one  side  of  the  tree  and  laid  bare  its  curiously  wrought  heart 
of  honey.  It  was  a  most  pleasmg  sight.  What  winding  and  devious 
ways  the  bees  had  through  their  palace!  What  great  masses  and 
blocks  of  snow-white  comb  there  were!  Where  it  was  sealed  up, 
presenting  that  slightly  dented,  uneven  surface,  it  looked  like  some 
precious  ore.  When  we  carried  a  largo  pail  of  it  out  of  the  woods, 
it  seemed  still  more  like  ore. 


5^  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

In  lining  bees  through  the  woods,  the  tactics  of  the  hunter  are 
to  pause  every  twenty  or  thirty  rods,  lop  away  the  branches  or  cut 
down  the  trees,  and  set  the  bees  to  work  again.  If  they  still  go  for- 
ward, he  goes  forward  also  and  repeats  his  observations  till  the 
tree  is  found  or  till  the  bees  turn  and  come  back  upon  the  trail. 
Then  he  knows  he  has  passed  the  tree,  and  he  retraces  his  steps  to  a 
convenient  distance  and  tries  again,  and  thus  quickly  reduces  the 
space  to  be  looked  over  till  the  swarm  is  traced  home.  On  one 
occasion,  in  a  wild  rocky  wood,  where  the  surface  alternated  be- 
tween deep  gulfs  and  chasms  filled  with  thick,  heavy  growths  of  tim- 
ber and  sharp,  precipitous,  rocky  ridges  like  a  tempest-tossed  sea, 
I  carried  my  bees  directly  under  their  tree,  and  set  them  to  work 
from  a  high,  exposed  ledge  of  rocks  not  thirty  feet  distant.  One 
would  have  expected  them  under  such  circumstances  to  have  gone 
straight  home,  as  there  were  but  few  branches  intervening,  but  they 
did  not;  they  labored  up  through  the  trees  and  attained  an  altitude 
above  the  woods  as  if  they  had  miles  to  travel,  and  thus  baffled  me 
for  hours.  Bees  will  always  do  this.  They  are  acquainted  with 
the  woods  only  from  the  top  side,  and  from  the  air  above;  they  rec- 
ognize home  only  by  landmarks  here,  and  in  every  instance  they 
rise  aloft  to  take  their  bearings.  Think  how  familiar  to  them  the 
topography  of  the  forest  summits  must  be  —  an  umbrageous  sea 
or  plain  where  every  mark  and  point  is  known. 

Another  curious  fact  is  that  generally  you  will  get  track  of  a 
bee-tree  sooner  when  you  are  half  a  mile  from  it  than  when  you  are 
only  a  few  yards.  Bees,  like  us  human  insects,  have  little  faith  in 
the  near  at  hand;  they  expect  to  make  their  fortune  in  a  distant 
field,  they  are  lured  by  the  remote  and  the  diflScult,  and  hence  over- 
look the  flower  and  the  sweet  at  their  very  door.  On  several 
occasions  I  have  unwittingly  set  my  box  within  a  few  paces  of  a 
bee-tree  and  waited  long  for  bees  without  getting  them,  when,  on 
removing  to  a  distant  field  or  opening  in  the  woods  I  have  got  a 
clue  at  once. 

Bees,  like  the  milkman,  like  to  be  near  a  spring.  They  do 
water  their  honey,  especially  in  a  dry  time.  The  liquid  is  then  of 
course  thicker  and  sweeter,  and  will  bear  diluting.  Hence,  old 
bee-hunters  look  for  bee-trees  along  creeks  and  near  spring  runs 
in  the  woods.    I  once  found  a  tree  a  long  distance  from  any  water. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  55 

and  the  honey  had  a  peculiar  bitter  flavor  imparted  to  it,  I  was  con- 
vinced, by  rain  water  sucked  from  the  decayed  and  spongy  hem- 
lock tree,  in  which  the  swarm  was  found.  In  cutting  _into  the 
tree,  the  north  side  of  it  was  found  to  be  saturated  with  water  hke 
a  spring,  which  ran  out  in  big  drops,  and  had  a  bitter  flavor.  The 
bees  had  thus  found  a  spring  or  a  cistern  in  their  own  house. 

Wild  honey  is  as  near  like  tame  as  wild  bees  are  like  their 
brothers  in  the  hive.  The  only  difference  is  that  wild  honej  is 
flavored  with  your  adventure,  which  makes  it  a  little  more  delec- 
table than  the  domestic  article. 

PULVIS  ET  UMBRA  i 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

What  a  monstrous  specter  is  this  man,  the  disease  of  the  agglu- 
tinated dust,  lifting  alternate  feet  or  lying  drugged  with  slumber; 
killing,  feeding,  growing,  bringing  forth  small  copies  of  himself; 
grown  upon  with  hair  like  grass,  fitted  with  eyes  that  move  and 
glitter  in  his  face;  a  thing  to  set  children  screaming;  —  and  yet 
looked  at  nearlier,  known  as  his  fellows  know  him,  how  surprising 
are  his  attributes!  Poor  soul,  here  for  so  little,  cast  among  so  many 
hardships,  filled  with  desires  so  incommensurate  and  so  inconsist- 
ent, savagely  surrounded,  savagely  descended,  irremediably  con- 
demned to  prey  upon  his  fellow  lives:  who  should  have  blamed  him 
had  he  been  of  a  piece  with  his  destiny  and  a  being  merely  bar- 
barous? And  we  look  and  behold  him  instead  filled  with  imper- 
fect virtues,  infinitely  childish,  often  admirably  valiant,  often 
touchingly  kind;  sitting  down,  amidst  his  momentary  life,  to  de- 
bate of  right  and  wrong  and  the  attributes  of  the  deity;  rising  up  to 
do  battle  for  an  egg  or  die  for  an  idea;  singling  out  his  friends  and 
his  mate  with  cordial  affection;  bringing  forth  in  pain,  rearing  with 
long-suffering  solicitude,  his  young.  To  touch  the  heart  of  his 
mystery,  we  find  in  him  one  thought,  strange  to  the  point  of  lunacy : 
the  thought  of  duty;  the  thought  of  something  owing  to  himself,  to 
his  neighbor,  to  his  God;  an  ideal  of  decency,  to  which  he  would  rise 
if  it  were  possible;  a  limit  of  shame,  below  which,  if  it  be  possible, 

•  R.  L.  Stevenson:  Across  the  Plains.  Copyright,  1892,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
New  York  City. 


56  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

he  will  not  stoop.  The  design  in  most  men  is  one  of  conformity; 
here  and  there,  in  picked  natures,  it  transcends  itself  and  soars  on 
the  other  side,  arming  martyrs  with  independence;  but  in  all,  in 
their  degrees,  it  is  a  bosom  thought.  It  sways  with  so  complete 
an  empire  that  merely  selfish  things  come  second,  even  with  the 
selfish:  that  appetites  are  starved,  fears  are  conquered,  pains  sup- 
ported; that  almost  the  dullest  shrinks  from  the  reproof  of  a  glance, 
although  it  were  a  child's;  and  all  but  the  most  cowardly  stand 
amidst  the  risks  of  war;  and  the  more  noble,  having  strongly  con- 
ceived an  act  as  due  to  their  ideal,  affront  and  embrace  death- 
Strange  enough  if,  with  their  singular  origin  and  perverted  practice, 
they  think  they  are  to  be  rewarded  in  some  future  life:  stranger 
still,  if  they  are  persuaded  of  the  contrary,  and  think  this  blow, 
which  they  solicit,  will  strike  them  senseless  for  eternity.  I  shall 
be  reminded  what  a  tragedy  of  misconception  and  misconduct 
man  at  large  presents:  of  organized  injustice,  cowardly  violence, 
and  treacherous  crime;  and  of  the  damning  imperfections  of  the 
best.  They  cannot  be  too  darkly  drawn.  Man  is  indeed  marked 
for  failure  in  his  efforts  to  do  right.  But  where  the  best  consistently 
miscarry,  how  tenfold  more  remarkable  that  all  should  continue  to 
strive;  and  surely  we  should  find  it  both  touching  and  inspiriting, 
that  in  a  field  from  which  success  is  banished,  our  race  should  not 
cease  to  labor. 

If  the  first  view  of  this  creature,  stalking  in  his  rotatory  isle,  be 
a  thing  to  shake  the  courage  of  the  stoutest,  on  this  nearer  sight 
he  startles  us  with  an  admiring  wonder.  It  matters  not  where  we 
look,  under  what  climate  we  observe  him,  in  what  stage  of  society, 
in  what  depth  of  ignorance,  burthened  with  what  erroneous  moral- 
ity; by  campfires  in  Assiniboia,  the  snow  powdering  his  shoulders, 
the  wind  plucking  his  blanket,  as  he  sits,  passing  the  ceremonial 
cnlumet  and  uttering  his  grave  opinions  like  a  Roman  senator;  in 
ships  at  sea,  a  man  inured  to  hardship)  and  vile  pleasures,  his  bright- 
est hope  a  fiddle  in  a  tavern  and  a  bedizened  trull  who  sells  herself 
to  rob  him,  and  he  for  all  that  simple,  innocent,  cheerful,  kindly 
like  a  child,  constant  to  toil,  brave  to  drown,  for  others;  in  the 
slums  of  cities,  moving  among  indifferent  millions  to  mechanical 
emi)!oyments,  without  hope  of  change  in  the  future,  with  scarce 
a  jjloasure  in  the  present,  and  yet  true  to  his  virtues,  honest  up  to 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  57 

his  lights,  kind  to  his  neighbors,  tempted  perhaps  in  vain  by  the 
bright  gin-palace,  perhaps  long-suffering  with  the  drunken  wife 
that  ruins  him;  in  India  (a  woman  this  time)  kneehng  with  broken 
cries  and  streaming  tears  as  she  drowns  her  child  in  the  sa- 
cred river;  in  the  brothel,  the  discard  of  society,  living  mainly 
on  strong  drink,  fed  with  affronts,  a  fool,  a  thief,  the  comrade  of 
thieves,  and  even  here  keeping  the  point  of  honor  and  the  touch  of 
pity,  often  repaying  the  world's  scorn  with  service,  often  standing 
firm  upon  a  scruple,  and  at  a  certain  cost,  rejecting  riches:  every- 
where some  virtue  cherished  or  affected,  everywhere  some  decency 
of  thought  and  carriage,  everywhere  the  ensign  of  man's  ineffectual 
goodness:  —  ah!  if  I  could  show  you  this!  if  I  could  show  you  these 
men  and  women,  all  the  world  over,  in  every  stage  of  history,  un- 
der every  abuse  of  error,  under  every  circumstance  of  failure,  with- 
out hope,  without  help,  without  thanks,  stUl  obscurely  fighting  the 
lost  fight  of  virtue,  still  clinging,  in  the  brothel  or  on  the  scaffold, 
to  some  rag  of  honor,  the  poor  jewel  of  their  souls! 


OUTLINES 
The  Value  of  Outlines 

It  has  been  thought  that  the  old  Scotchman  who  said, 
"A  man's  years  are  three  score  and  ten,  or  maybe  by  good 
hap  he  '11  get  ten  more,  but  it  's  a  weary  wrastle  all  the  way 
through! "  came  to  his  final  words  as  the  result  of  writing  out- 
lines. If  this  be  true,  surely  it  is  unfortunate,  for  the  writing 
of  outlines  brings  exceeding  great  reward.  An  outline  is 
not  an  ancient  form  of  blind  discipline,  but  rather  a  helping 
hand  across  the  bogland  of  facts  and  ideas.  It  is  a  most 
useful  instrument  toward  good  writing;  its  justification  is  its 
practical  usefulness.  This  usefulness,  helpfulness,  is  double 
in  its  value  —  to  the  writer  and  to  the  instructor,  when  there 
is  one. 

As  to  the  value  of  an  outline  for  the  writer  —  without  an 
outline  you  face  in  your  writing  a  complicated  problem,  more 
compUcated,  in  fact,  than  is  justifiable.  At  one  and  the  same 


58  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

time  you  must  make  your  thinking  logical  and  your  expres- 
sion adequate  —  distinguished  if  possible.  Either  of  these 
tasks  is  sufficient  to  demand  all  your  powers;  together,  they 
offer  a  really  overwhelming  problem.  Stevenson,  to  whom 
style  was  of  the  greatest  importance,  as  bone  of  the  bone  and 
blood  of  the  blood  of  the  writing,  wrote  to  a  friend,  "Prob- 
lems of  style  are  (as  yet)  dirt  under  my  feet;  my  problem  is 
architectural,  creative  —  to  get  this  stuff  joined  and  mov- 
ing." It  was  only  after  he  had  fitted  his  material  together 
that  he  felt  able  to  devote  himself  to  making  the  beautiful 
prose  that  is  so  much  admired.  A  noted  Frenchman  is 
quoted  as  exclaiming,  when  first  he  beheld  the  famous  Brook- 
lyn Bridge,  "How  beautiful  it  is!",  then,  "How  well  made 
it  is!"  and  finally,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "How  well 
planned  it  is ! "  A  good  piece  of  writing  should  have  the  same 
comments  made;  but  they  cannot  be  made,  usually,  without 
the  carefully  planned  outline. 

You  face  the  problem,  without  an  outline,  of  answering 
the  two  questions  about  every  detail  that  presents  itself 
for  treatment:  first,  shall  I  include  or  exclude  this  detail; 
and  secondly,  how  shall  I  make  this  detail  help  the  general 
flow  of  my  writing,  and  how  shall  I  express  it  so  that  it  shall 
contribute  to  the  proper  tone  of  the  work.?  And  while  you 
thus  judge  each  small  detail,  you  must  also  keep  your  criti- 
cal faculties  active  to  estimate  your  total  course,  whether 
you  are  cleaving  your  way  clearly,  steadily,  and  with  suffi- 
cient directness'to  your  goal,  whether  the  work  as  a  whole 
is  answering  your  desires. 

Now  to  ask  the  imaided  brain,  unless  it  has  had  long  years 
of  training,  to  perform  all  this  critical  work  during  the 
actual  process  of  expression,  is  nothing  short  of  cruel  —  and 
almost  sure  of  failure.  For  in  any  writing  which  enlists 
from  you  even  a  spark  of  interest  the  fervor  of  creative  work, 
the  stimulating  effect  of  seeing  the  work  grow  under  your 
pen,  tends  often  to  unseat  the  critical  powers,  to  destroy  per- 


.   i 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  59 

spective,  to  make  a  detail  seem  more  valuable  or  less  valu- 
able than  it  should,  on  the  whim  of  the  momentary  interest 
or  repulsion.  Thus  the  logic  of  the  writing  is  impaired,  for 
details  are  included  which  should  not  enter,  and  others  are 
excluded  which  ought  to  be  welcomed,  and  proportions  are 
bad.  And  the  expression  is  so  liable  to  unevenness  as  to  be 
less  worthy  than  it  should  be.  Bad  logic  and  uneven  expres- 
sion beget  failure. 

The  outline  helps  to  overcome  these  difficulties.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  not  final,  can  be  changed  at  will,  and  makes 
no  extraordinary  demands  on  the  powers  of  expression.  In 
the  second  place,  as  regards  logic,  the  outline  shows  the  re- 
lation of  ideas  to  each  other  and  to  the  whole  subject;  you 
can  estimate  rather  easily  whether  a  detail  is  of  sufficient 
value  to  warrant  inclusion,  and,  if  so,  how  much  space  it 
deserves.  For  in  the  outline  you  have  the  bare  fact,  suc- 
cinctly expressed,  which  enables  you  to  focus  your  atten- 
tion upon  the  thought.  But  since  logic  is  more  than  mere 
inclusion  and  order  and  spacing,  and  deals  also  with  the  logic 
of  attitude,  the  outline  is  again  of  service.  For  it  shows 
what  should  be  the  tone  of  the  complete  piece  of  writing, 
and  how  this  tone  should  be  modified  by  the  individual 
section  of  the  writing.  Suppose  that  you  are  to  write  of  the 
attitude  of  a  politician  toward  party  principles.  If  a  head- 
ing in  your  outline  reads,  "He  never  feared  to  modify  prin- 
ciples to  meet  inevitable  conditions,"  the  attitude  which  you 
take  in  writing  will  be  radically  different  from  that  which  you 
would  assume  if  the  heading  read,  "He  never  hesitated  to 
warp  principles  to  outwit  unfavorable  conditions."  Both 
the  logic  of  structure  and  that  of  attitude,  then,  are  aided 
by  the  use  of  an  outline.  And,  at  any  point  in  the  actual 
completed  writing,  you  can  easily  determine  by  referring  to 
the  outline,  whether  you  are  gaining  the  effect  that  you  de- 
sire and  what  progress  you  have  made.  And  in  the  third 
place,  as  regards  expression,  the  outline  reUeves  you  of  the 


60  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

necessity  of  doing  the  constructive  thinking  of  the  subject, 
and  enables  you  to  apply  all  your  powers  to  the  actual  say- 
ing of  your  message.  Shakespeare  might  have  written,  in- 
stead of  "the  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine,"  "make  all 
the  ocean,  that's  full  of  fishes,^  look  red"  —  but  he  did  not. 
Had  he  done  so,  where  would  now  have  been  the  power  and 
the  charm?  Expression  is  of  utmost  value,  and  you  can 
ill  afford  to  slight  it.  For  this  reason,  and  especially  since 
distinguished  expression  is  so  difficult  to  form,  to  be  re- 
leased from  the  attendant  worry  of  constructive  thinking  is 
of  the  greatest  help  to  the  writer.  Both  logic  and  expression, 
then,  are  dependent  on  the  outline:  with  it  they  are  more 
sure. 

Instead,  then,  of  feeling  that  dim  dread  of  failure,  which 
ever  dogs  the  writer's  steps,  with  a  well-constructed  out- 
line you  can  feel  comparative  safety  in  the  possession  of  a 
safe  guide  in  case  of  perplexity.  You  will  be  initiated,  will 
know  the  secrets  of  your  subject,  will  have  a  "grip"  with 
your  facts  and  ideas,  and  can  apply  your  powers  to  putting 
the  intangible  thoughts  into  tangible  words. 

As  for  being  of  value  to  the  instructor,  often  he  too  can  es- 
timate more  surely  and  easily  the  worth  of  the  writing  if  he 
has  the  skeleton  to  examine.  For  there  the  structural  defects 
are  more  apparent,  are  not  concealed  by  the  pleasant  flow 
of  words,  just  as  the  structure  of  a  skyscraper  is  more  appar- 
ent before  the  wall-tiles  or  bricks  are  laid  on  to  conceal  the 
girders.  The  instructor  can  therefore  often  point  out  in- 
sufficiencies in  the  thought,  or  wrong  relations,  which  might 
otherwise  stand  as  defects  in  the  finished  work. 

The  Form  of  the  Outline 

Shall  an  outline  be  written  in  words  and  phrases  or  in  com- 
plete sentences?  In  the  first  place,  so  far  as  any  reader  ex- 
cept the  author  is  concerned,  complete  sentences  are  neces- 

1  If  this  be  the  meaning  of  "  multitudinous." 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  61 

sary  for  understanding.  Often  they  are  necessary  for  the 
writer  himself.  In  an  outHne  of  a  theme  explaining  gas  en- 
gines the  isolated  heading  Speed  means  nothing  definite  to 
any  one  but  the  author,  if  indeed  to  him.  A  reader  cannot 
tell  from  such  a  word  whether  speed  is  important  or  insig- 
nificant, or  whether  the  author  intends  to  give  to  gas  engines 
credit  for  comparative  excellence  in  this  property.  If,  how- 
ever, the  heading  reads,  "In  the  important  property  of 
Speed  gas  engines  are  the  equal  of  steam  engines,"  the  reader 
knows  at  once  what  is  meant,  whether  he  may  agree  with 
the  statement  or  not.  He  can  definitely  tell  from  an  outline 
of  complete  sentences  what  the  course  of  thought  is  to  be 
and  what  will  be  the  tone  of  the  theme.  The  reader,  then, 
needs  complete  sentences.  The  writer,  on  the  other  hand, 
might  seem  to  be  sufficiently  helped  by  mere  words  or 
phrases,  since  he  naturally  knows  what  he  means.  But 
does  he  know?  The  chances  are  that  when  an  author  puts 
dovm  such  a  heading  as  Speed  he  has  only  a  large  general 
notion  of  what  he  means,  without  being  sure  of  the  immedi- 
ate connection  and  application,  and  with  perhaps  no  idea 
at  all  of  the  tone  which  he  intends  to  catch.  If  the  author 
will  write  the  sentence  quoted  above,  he  will  complete  his 
thought,  make  it  really  definite,  and  be  pretty  sure  to  know 
what  he  is  talking  about,  what  he  intends  to  do.  Further- 
more, even  though  he  know,  when  he  sets  down  a  phrase, 
what  he  means  by  it,  the  chance  is  strong  that  when  he  ar- 
rives at  the  expansion  of  the  phrase  he  will  have  forgotten 
some  of  the  implications  and  may  give  the  heading  a  cast 
that  he  did  not  intend.  Whether  he  knows  definitelj^  what 
he  means  or  not,  the  writer  is  more  safe  if  he  uses  complete 
sentences,  and  for  any  other  reader  of  the  outline  complete 
sentences  are  quite  necessary. 

Outlines  are  of  three  kinds :  those  that  show  the  topic  re- 
lations by  division  into  indented  headings ;  those  that  show 
the  sequence  of  paragraphs  by  statement  of  the  topic  sen- 


62  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

tence;  and  those  that  combine  these  two  forms.  The  pri- 
mary object  oi  the  first  form,  which  is  illustrated  by  the 
first  outline  of  "An  Idyl  of  the  Honey -Bee  "  which  follows,  is 
to  aid  in  the  thinking,  to  plot  out  the  ground  and  to  group 
the  material.  In  this  first  outline  a  glance  at  the  five  main 
headings  makes  the  plan  of  the  essay  at  once  apparent  — 
first  a  statement  of  the  effect  of  bees  upon  us;  then  an  ac- 
count of  a  hunt;  then  some  specific  examples  to  drive  things 
home;  then  some  special  directions  that  might  be  overlooked, 
and  finally  a  tribute  to  the  joy  of  the  hunting.  The  benefit 
of  this  kind  of  outline  is  that  the  general  relationships  among 
topics  are  made  clear,  the  large  divisions  of  thought  appear, 
and  the  writer  can  with  comparative  ease  tell  whether  he  has 
covered  the  subject,  and  whether  he  has  chosen  the  best 
order  of  thought.  It  avoids  the  invertebrate  flow  of  thought 
that  is  unaware  of  structure.  In  other  words,  it  is  of  value 
chiefly  to  the  thinking.  It  does  not  show  which  topics  shall 
be  grouped  into  paragraphs  together,  and  it  does  not,  of 
course,  phrase  the  topic  sentences,  usually.  In  such  an  out- 
line care  should  be  taken  to  make  each  heading  a  complete 
sentence,  and  to  make  headings  that  are  of  the  same  rank 
fairly  parallel  in  structure  of  expression  unless  this  inter- 
feres with  the  tone  of  the  heading.  For  example,  A,  B,  and 
C  under  III  are  made  similar  in  structure  since  they  bear 
the  same  general  relation  to  III. 

The  second  type  of  outline,  that  in  which  a  list  of  the 
topic  sentences  is  given,  and  which  is  illustrated  by  the 
second  outline  of  "An  Idyl  of  the  Honey -Bee"  which  fol- 
lows, is  of  value,  especially  if  used  with  an  outline  of  the  first 
type,  in  that  it  shows  just  how  much  of  the  thought  should 
go  into  the  various  paragraphs,  and  thereby  establishes  the 
divisions  of  expression.  Comparison  of  the  two  outlines  of 
"An  Idyl  of  the  Honey-Bee"  will  show  that  paragraph  5 
in  the  second  outline  includes  all  the  material  in  the  four 
headings,  2,  a,  1',  and  b,  under  II  in  the  first  outhne.    Now 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  63 

for  the  writer  to  know  beforehand  how  he  intends  to  divide 
his  material  into  paragraphs  is  of  great  value;  otherwise  he 
might  be  giving  to  some  comparatively  minor  point  —  which 
for  the  moment  assumes  interest  for  him  —  a  separate  para- 
graph, as  if,  for  example,  Mr.  Burroughs  had  dwelt  at 
length  on  the  interesting  location  of  trees  on  ledges.  In 
other  words,  this  second  kind  of  outline  is  valuable  chiefly 
in  its  arrangement  and  placing  of  material.  Its  service  in 
making  the  original  choice  is  not  so  immediately  apparent. 
It  has  also  the  advantage  that  it  indicates  pretty  well  what 
kind  of  expression  is  to  be  used  in  the  expanded  form. 

The  third  type  of  outline,  which  many  writers  prefer 
to  either  of  the  others,  indicates  both  the  topics  to  be 
treated  and  the  division  into  paragraphs.  It  may  be  con- 
structed in  either  of  two  ways:  first,  the  topic  sentences  may 
be  stated  in  their  regular  order,  with  the  subdivisions  of  the 
thought  as  they  appear  in  the  indented  outline  grouped  un- 
der the  topic  sentences;  or  in  the  indented  outline  the  para- 
graphs may  be  indicated  by  the  regular  sign  for  the  para- 
graph at  any  point  where  a  new  division  is  to  be  made. 
That  is,  in  the  first  of  the  two  outlines  that  follow,  the  first 
paragraph  might  be  indicated  in  the  first  outline  as  including 
I  and  I,  A;  the  second  as  including  II  and  II,  A;  the  third  as 
including  II,  B,  1,  a,  b,  etc.  Or,  in  the  second  outline  the 
subheadings  of  the  first  might  be  indicated  under  the  various 
topic  sentences.  The  value  of  this  type  of  outline  is  ob- 
viously that  it  both  shows  the  logic  of  the  thought  and  the 
divisional  arrangement  for  presentation  in  paragraphs. 
With  such  an  outUne  the  chances  that  you  could  go  wrong, 
in  even  a  long  theme  on  a  difiicult  subject,  are  slight. 

Do  not  fail,  therefore,  when  your  theme  is  to  be  of  any 
considerable  length,  or  when  the  subject  is  at  all  difficult, 
to  make  an  outline.  There  is  no  greater  pleasure  in  the 
world  than  that  of  creative  effort  when  the  creator  knows 
what  he  is  about.     But  when  the  ideas  are  hazy,  when  the 


64  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

writer  does  not  know  exactly  what  he  wishes  to  do  and  what 
impression  he  wishes  to  make  —  then  the  process  of  crea- 
tion is  anything  but  pleasant.  And  since  the  outline  pre- 
sents a  pattern  of  your  work,  since  with  it  you  cannot  fail 
to  see  what  your  intentions  are  and  what  the  requirements 
of  your  subject,  regard  it  as  your  best  writing  friend  — 
and  make  use  of  the  rights  of  friendship  and  require  service. 

First  Outline  of  "  An  Idyl  of  the  Honey-Bee  " 

I.  A  colony  of  bees  increases  our  interest  in  a  wood. 

A.  The  secret  of  the  hidden  golden  store  of  honey  is  pleas- 
ing. 
n.  The  hunt  is  most  interesting,  especially  in  the  autumn. 

A.  Nature,  as  we  tramp  with  luncheon  and  with  bait,  is  in 
her  greatest  glory. 

B.  We  are  stimulated  by  the  odds  agaiast  our  finding  the 
tree. 

1.  Determining  the  direction  of  the  tree  is  a  problem. 

a.  It  is  easy  to  catch  the  first  bee  and  watch  it 
devour  the  bait. 

b.  But  to  be  sure  of  its  rapid  flight  home  requires 
sharp  eyes  and  concentrated  watching. 

c.  Only  after  three  or  four  trips  of  the  first  bee 
do  others  discover  the  secret  of  our  bait  and 
join  in  establishing  the  necessary  "line"  to 
the  tree. 

2.  Determining  the  distance  of  the  tree  requires  skill. 

a.  From  another  point  we  make  a  new  "line" 
that  meets  the  first  at  the  tree. 

1'.  This  is  called  "cross-lining." 

b.  It  is  easy  to  pass  by  the  tree  even  when  we 
know  about  where  it  is. 

C.  Once  found,  the  tree  must  be  attacked  boldly. 

1.  Bees  do  not  sting  a  bold  person. 

2.  But  when  a  sting  is  touched,  even  on  a  dead  bee, 
it  hurts. 

3.  Honey  is  the  best  cure  for  the  sting. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  65 

D.  The  actions  of  the  bees  are  interesting. 

1.  Those  which  are  away  from  home  do  not  recognize 
the  ruins  of  their  own  hive,  and  begin  to  eat. 

a.  At  last  they  pathetically  understand. 

2.  Robber  bees  come  for  plunder. 

a.  Bumble-bees  arrive  in  large  numbers. 

1'.  Compared  with  honey-bees   they   are 
clumsy. 

III.  Two  examples  from  experience  show  the  chances  for  missing 
and  the  delights  of  triumph. 

A.  Both  trees  were  hemlocks. 

B.  Both  were  in  interesting  situations. 

C.  Both  yielded  good  store  of  honey. 

IV.  Special  facts,  occasioned  by  the  habits  of  bees,  need  to  be  re- 
membered. 

A.  In  the  woods,  the  hunter  must  stop,  every  little  while, 
to  test  his  "line." 

1.  Sometimes  he  is  baffled,  because  the  bees  do  not 
know  the  woods  from  the  ground  side. 

B.  Bees  hunt  for  honey  far  from  home. 

1.  Usually  it  is  easier  to  find  a  tree  half  a  mile  away 
than  from  only  a  few  yards. 

C.  Since  bees  like  water,  a  careful  hunter  looks  along  creeks 
and  near  springs. 

V.  Wild  honey  is  better  than  tame  because  it  tastes  of  the  ad- 
venture of  finding  it. 

Second  Outline  of  "An  Idyl  of  the  Honey-Bee  " 

1.  The  presence  of  a  colony  of  bees  in  a  wood  gives  it  interest. 

2.  The  fall  is  the  best  time  to  start  with  luncheon  and  bait  off 
across  the  fields  a-hunting. 

3.  After  two  miles  we  catch  several  bees  and  watch  them  start 
for  home  with  our  honey. 

4.  After  several  trips,  other  bees  that  have  discovered  the  secret 
arrive. 

5.  With  one  line  established,  we  move  on,  establish  another,  find 
the  tree  and  attack  it. 

fi.  Boldness  in  handling  bees  is  essential. 


66  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

7.  Bees  tliat  are  away  from  home  when  their  tree  is  attacked 
have  considerable  difficulty  in  recognizing  it. 

8.  Robber  bees  join  the  plundered  to  eat  all  the  remnants  of  honey. 

9.  A  neighbor  honey-bee  leads  to  another  store  in  a  hemlock. 

10.  Another  tree  in  the  vicinity,  also  a  hemlock,  had  a  superb  situ- 
ation. 

11.  The  honey  in  this  tree  was  most  pleasing  to  see  and  to  carry 
home. 

12.  In  lining  bees  one  must  stop  every  little  while  and  test  his  line; 
bees  puzzle  sometimes  by  their  actions  since  they  know  the 
woods  only  from  above. 

13.  Bees  discover  their  home  to  the  hunter  better  when  they  are 
caught  at  some  distance  from  the  tree. 

14.  Since  bees  like  water,  it  is  well  to  hunt  along  brooks  and  near 
springs. 

15.  Wild  honey  is  sweeter  than  tame. 

EXERCISES 

"  I.  Select  the  words  and  phrases  in  the  selection  from  Pulvis  et  Umbra 
which  immediately  help  to  accomplish  the  controlHng  purpose  of 
the  essay. 
II.  From  what  grade  in  the  intellectual  and  social  world  does  Steven- 
son select  his  examples  in  the  paragraph  beginning:  //  the  first  view 
of  this  creature,  etc.?  Why?  From  what  grade  would  you  select  ex- 
amples for  a  similar  paragraph  if  you  intended  the  creation  of  despair 
as  yoiu"  controlling  purpose?  What  common  qualities  are  found 
in  all  Stevenson's  examples  through  the  selection?  Why  does  he 
strive  for  this  quality? 
III.  Make  an  outline  of  "An  Idyl  of  the  Honey-Bee,"  using  the  ma- 
terial which  now  appears,  but  placing  the  accent  of  the  essay  upon 
the  difficulty  of  obtaining  the  honey,  instead  of  upon  the  pleasures 
of  the  hunt,  as  it  is  now  placed  —  in  other  words,  outline  the  essay 
with  change  of  controlling  pjirpose. 
IV.  Write  the  first  paragraph  of  the  essay,  and  the  last  one,  as  you 
would  wish  them  to  appear  if  your  intention  were  to  make  difficulty 
rather  than  joy  the  controlling  purpose. 
V.  1.  Make  an  outline  for  "Solemn-Looking  Blokes"  with  the  con- 
trolling purpose  of  bringing  out  the  romantic  nature  of  the  presence 
of  American  troops  in  England. 

2.  Make  an  outline  such  as  would  suit  the  expression  of  an  Ameri- 
can who  had  been  living  in  England  since  the  declaration  of 
war  in  IQl-i  and  had  been  taunted  with  the  apathy  of  the  United 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  67 

States  government,  and  now  was  supremely  proud  to  see  United 
States  troops  in  England. 
VI.  Write  a  final  paragraph  of  "Solemn-Looking  Blokes"  to  express 
any  of  the  following  controlling  purposes: 

1.  Joy  at  the  union  of  the  old  and  the  new  worlds  in  a  common 
cause. 

2.  Heartache  at  the  awfulness  of  soldiers'  sailing  3000  miles  to 
die  because  an  autocratic  government  precipitated  war. 

3.  The  pride  of  an  American  resident  in  London  over  the  phy- 
sique of  the  United  States  soldiers. 

4.  The  astonishment  of  a  London  school-boy  who  has  just  read 
in  his  history  how  the  American  colonies  rebelled. 

5.  The  apprehension  of  a  British  Tory  lest  aristocracy  be  doomed 
when  the  troops  of  a  great  democracy  appear  so  far  away  from 
home  to  battle  against  autocracy. 

VIL  Write  outlines  and  themes  on  any  of  the  following  subjects  to  ac- 
complish the  different  controlling  purposes : 

1.  The  Scientific  Reduction  of  Noise. 

1.  To  show  the  social  duty  of  engineers. 

2.  To  show  the  wonder  of  man's  analytical  powers. 

3.  To  show  the  seriousness  of  the  difficulties  that  must  be 
faced. 

2.  The  Growing  Appreciation  of  Good  Architecture  in  America. 

1.  To  show  the  good  educative  work  of  our  architects. 

2.  To  show  the  influence  of  European  travel. 

3.  To  show  the  effect  of  the  general  rise  in   standards  of 
education. 

8.  The  Popular  Magazines. 

1.  To  show  the  general  looseness  of  thinking. 

2.  To  show  the  senseless  duplication  of  material  and  ideas. 

3.  To  show  the  opportunity  for  a  host  of  authors. 

4.  The  Effects  of  the  Big  Mail-Order  Houses. 

1.  To  show  how  they  ruin  the  small  country  store. 

2.  To  show  how  they  increase  the  opportunities  of  the  small 
buyers. 

3.  To  show  how  they  help  give  employment  in  the  large  cities. 

5.  Is  Religion  Declining? 

1 .  To  show  the  shifting  of  responsibility  from  creeds  to  deeds. 

2.  To  show  the  changed  status  of  the  church. 

3.  To  show  the  effect  of  increased  education  on  religion. 

6.  "  Best  Sellers." 

1.  To  show  the  relation  of  their  immediate  popularity  to 
their  final  valuation. 

2.  To  indicate  the  qualities  necessary  to  a  "best  seller." 

3.  To  show  the  effect  upon  the  thinking  of  a  nation  that  has 
many  "best  sellers." 


68  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

7.  Results  of  the  Farm  Credit  Legislation. 

1.  To  show  the  reUef  gained  for  the  farmers. 

2.  To  show  the  effect  on  increased  production. 

3.  To  show  the  fairer  economic  distribution. 

8.  The  Use  of  Concrete. 

1 .  To  show  tlie  general  economic  value. 

2.  To  show  the  general  lightening  of  toil  that  it  may  have 
caused. 

3.  To  show  the  variety  of  its  service. 
S.  The  American  Spirit. 

1.  To  show  its  idealism. 

2.  To  show  its  indebtedness  to  England,  or  France,  or  Ger- 
many. 

3.  To  show  how  it  may  help  the  world. 

10.  Beethoven's  Piano-forte  Sonatas. 

1.  To  show  them  as  the  culmination  of  the  sonata  develop- 
ment. 

2.  To  show  their  romantic  nature. 

3.  To  show  the  development  of  Beethoven's  genius  as  he 
matured. 

11.  Heredity  in  Plants. 

1.  To  show  the  similarity  to  heredity  in  man. 

2.  To  show  how  knowledge  of  heredity  in  plants  may  serve 
an  economic  pm-pose. 

3.  To  show  the  wonderful  consistency  of  the  laws  of  heredity 
in  plants. 

12.  Glacial  Action  in  the  Mississippi  Valley. 

1.  To  show  the  economic  result. 

2.  To  indicate  the  sweep  of  time  consumed  in  the  formation. 

3.  To  show  the  picturesque  qualities  in  the  gradual  action. 
VIII.  What  is  the  controlling  purpose  in  the  following  selection.'     Point 

out  the  influence  upon  the  writer  of  knowing  that  Bostonians  would 
read  his  words.  Indicate  how  the  selection  would  differ  if  the  con- 
trolling object  were  to  be  bitter  jealousy  expressed  by  a  resident  in  a 
newer,  larger,  envious  dty. 

Boston  has  a  rather  old-fashioned  habit  of  speaking  the  English 
language.  It  came  upon  us  rather  suddenly  one  day  as  we  jour- 
neyed out  Huntington  Avenue  to  the  smart  new  gray  and  red 
opera  house.  The  very  coloring  of  the  foyer  of  that  house  —  soft 
and  simple  —  bespoke  the  refinement  of  the  Boston  of  to-day. 

In  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  New  York,  in  every  other 
one  of  the  glib  opera  houses  that  are  springing  up  mushroom- 
fashion  across  the  land,  our  ears  would  have  been  assailed  by 
"Librettos!  Get  your  Librettos!"  Not  so  in  Boston.  At  the 
Boston  Opera  House  the  young  woman  back  q&  the  joyer  jtand 
calmly  announced  at  ciocklike  intervals: 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  69 

'    "Translations.     Translations." 

And  the  head  usher,  whom  the  older  Bostonians  grasped  by  the 
hand  and  seemed  to  regard  as  a  long-lost  friend,  did  not  sip  out, 
"Checks,  please." 

"Locations,"  he  requested,  as  he  condescended  to  the  hand- 
grasps  of  the  socially  elect. 

"The  nearer  door  for  those  stepping  out,"  announces  the  guard 
,         upon  the  elevated  train,  and  as  for  the  surface  and  trolley-cars, 
those  wonderful  green  perambulators  laden  down  with  more  signs 
than  nine  ordinary  trolley-cars  would  carry  at  one  time,  they  do 
not  speak  of  the  newest  type  in  Boston  as  "  Pay-as-you-enter- 
cars,"  after  the  fashion  of  less  cultured  communities.    In  the  Hub 
they  are  known  as  Prepayment  cars  —  its  precision  is  uru-elenting.^ 
L'      IX.  What  is  the  controlling  purpose  in  the  following  selection  from  Mr. 
John  Masefield's  volume  of  Gallipoli  ?    Analyze  this  controlling  pur- 
pose as  to  the  subject  itself,  the  author's  personal  reaction,  and  the 
intended  readers  —  largely  perhaps,  the  American  people. 

Let  the  reader  imagine  himself  to  be  facing  three  miles  of  any 
very  rough  broken  sloping  ground  known  to  him,  ground  for  the 
most  part  gorse-thyme-and-scrub-covered,  being  poor  soil,  but 
in  some  places  beautiful  with  flowers  (especially  a  "  spiked  yellow 
flower  with  a  whitish  leaf  ")  and  on  others  green  from  cultivation. 
Let  him  say  to  himself  that  he  and  an  army  of  his  friends  are  about 
to  advance  up  the  slope  towards  the  top,  and  that  as  they  will  be 
advancing  in  a  line,  along  the  whole  length  of  the  three  miles,  he 
will  only  see  the  advance  of  those  comparatively  near  to  him, 
since  folds  or  dips  in  the  ground  will  hide  the  others.  Let  him, 
before  he  advances,  look  earnestly  along  the  line  of  the  hill,  as  it 
shows  up  clear,  in  blazing  sunlight  only  a  mile  from  him,  to  see 
his  tactical  objective,  one  little  clump  of  pines,  three  hundred  yards 
away,  across  what  seem  to  be  fields.  Let  him  see  in  the  whole 
length  of  the  hill  no  single  human  being,  nothing  but  scrub,  earth, 
a  few  scattered  buildings,  of  the  Levantine  type  (dirty  white 
with  roofs  of  dirty  red)  and  some  patches  of  dark  Scotch  pine, 
growing  as  the  pine  loves,  on  bleak  crests.  Let  him  imagine  him- 
self to  be  more  weary  than  he  has  ever  been  in  his  life  before,  and 
dirtier  than  he  has  ever  believed  it  possible  to  be,  and  parched 
with  thirst,  nervous,  wild-eyed  and  rather  lousy.  Let  him  think 
that  he  has  not  slept  for  more  than  a  few  minutes  together  for 
eleven  days  and  nights,  and  that  in  all  his  waking  hours  he  has 
been  fighting  for  his  life,  often  hand  to  hand  in  the  dark  with  a 
fierce  enemy,  and  that  after  each  fight  he  has  had  to  dig  himself  a 
hole  in  the  ground,  often  with  his  hands,  and  then  walk  three  or 
four  roadless  miles  to  bring  up  heavy  boxes  under  fire.    Let  him 

>  Edward  Hungerford:  The  Pergonality  of  American  Cities.    By  courtesy  of  the  publisher. 
Eobert  M.  McBride  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 


70  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

think,  too,  that  in  all  those  eleven  days  he  has  never  for  an  instant 
been  out  of  the  thunder  of  cannon,  that  waking  or  sleeping  their 
devastating  crash  has  been  blasting  the  air  across  within  a  mile 
or  two,  and  this  from  an  artillery  so  terrible  that  each  discharge 
beats  as  it  were  a  wedge  of  shock  between  the  skull-bone  and  the 
brain.  Let  him  think  too  that  never,  for  an  instant,  in  all  that 
time,  has  he  been  free  or  even  partly  free  from  the  peril  of  death  in 
its  most  suddea  and  savage  forms,  and  that  hourly  in  all  that  time 
he  has  seen  his  friends  blown  to  pieces  at  his  side,  or  dismembered, 
or  drowned,  or  driven  mad,  or  stabbed,  or  sniped  by  some  unseen 
stalker,  or  bombed  in  the  dark  sap  with  a  handful  of  dynamite 
in  a  beef-tin,  till  their  blood  is  caked  upon  his  clothes  and  thick 
upon  his  face,  and  that  he  knows,  as  he  stares  at  the  hill,  that  in 
a  few  moments,  more  of  that  dwindling  band,  already  too  few, 
God  knows  how  many  too  few,  for  the  task  to  be  done,  will  be 
gone  the  same  way,  and  that  he  himself  may  reckon  that  he  has 
done  with  life,  tasted  and  spoken  and  loved  his  last,  and  that  in  a 
few  minutes  more  may  be  blasted  dead,  or  lying  bleeding  in  the 
scrub,  with  perhaps  his  face  gone  and  a  leg  and  an  arm  broken,  un- 
able to  move  but  still  alive,  unable  to  drive  away  the  flies  or  screen 
the  ever-dropping  rain,  in  a  place  where  none  will  find  him,  or 
be  able  to  help  him,  a  place  where  he  will  die  and  rot  and  shrivel, 
till  nothing  is  left  of  him  but  a  few  rags  and  a  few  remnants 
and  a  little  identification-disc  flapping  on  his  bones  in  the  wind. 
Then  let  him  hear  the  intermittent  crash  and  rattle  of  the  fire 
augment  suddenly  and  a'wf  ully  in  a  roaring,  blasting  roll,  unspeak- 
able and  unthinkable,  while  the  air  above,  that  has  long  been 
whining  and  whistling,  becomes  filled  with  the  scream  of  shells 
passing  like  great  cats  of  death  in  the  air;  let  him  see  the  slope  of 
the  hill  vanish  in  a  few  moments  into  the  white,  yellow,  and  black 
smokes  of  great  explosions  shot  with  fire,  and  watch  the  lines  of 
white  puffs  marking  the  hill  in  streaks  where  the  shrapnel  searches 
a  suspected  trench;  and  then,  in  the  height  of  the  tumult,  when 
his  brain  is  shaking  in  his  head,  let  him  pull  himself  together  with 
his  friends,  and  clamber  up  out  of  the  trench,  to  go  forward  against 
an  invisible  enemy,  safe  in  some  unseen  trench  expecting  him.* 
What  light  does  the  following  paragraph  which  appears  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  book  throw  upon  the  controlling  purpose.' 

Later,  when  there  was  leisure,  I  began  to  consider  the  Darda- 
nelles Campaign,  not  as  a  tragedy,  nor  as  a  mistake,  but  as  a  great 
human  effort,  which  came,  more  than  once,  very  near  to  triumph, 
achieved  the  impossible  many  times,  and  failed,  in  the  end,  as 
many  great  deeds  of  arms  have  failed,  from  something  which  had 
nothing  to  do  with  arms  nor  with  the  men  who  bore  them.     That 

>  John  Masefield:  Gallipoli.     By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  The  Macmillan  Company, 
New  York  City. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  EXPOSITION  71 

the  effort  failed  is  not  against  it;  much  that  is  most  splendid  in 
military  history  failed,  many  great  things  and  noble  men  have 
failed.     To  myself,  this  failure  is  the  second  grand  event  of  the 
war;  the  first  was  Belgium's  answer  to  the  German  ultimatum. ^ 
X.  Explain  what  would  be  your  controlling  purpose  in  a  theme  on  any 
of  the  following  subjects,  and  how  you  would  arrange  your  material 
to  accomplish  this  purpose. 
•      1.  What  is  the  Primary  Function  of  a  Successful  Novel? 
-    2.  The  Philosophy  of  Woman  Suffrage. 

3.  Lynch  Law  and  Law  Reform. 

4.  The  Conservatism  of  the  American  College  Student. 

5.  Intellectual  Bravery. 

6.  A  Mediseval  Free  City. 

7.  Mr.  Roosevelt's  Career  as  an  Index  of  the  American  Character. 

8.  Practical  Efficiency  as  an  Enemy  to  "Sweetness  and  Light." 

9.  The  .3*]sthetics  of  the  Skyscraper. 

10.  Possibilities  for  the  Small  Farmer  in  America. 

11.  The  Future  of  Civil  Engineering. 

12.  Housekeeping  as  an  Exact  Science. 

XI.  Indicate  what  your  controlling  purpose  would  be  in  writing  of  the 
following  subjects,  if  you  chose  your  purpose  from  the  subjccl-maltrr 
alone.  Then  show  how  the  purpose  might  be  affected  by  the  different 
sets  of  readers  as  they  are  indicated  in  the  subheadings. 

1.  The  Intelligence  of  the  Average  Voter. 

a.  For  a  woman  who  eagerly  desires  woman  suffrage. 

b.  For  a  refined  but  narrow  aristocrat,  descendant  of  an  old 
family. 

c.  For  an  agitating  member  of  the  I.W.W. 

2.  The  Value  of  Courses  in  Literature  for  the  Technical  Student. 

a.  For  a  hard-headed  civil  engineer. 

b.  For  a  white-haired,  kindly  old  professor  of  Greek,  who  re- 
sents the  intrusion  of  science  and  labor. 

c.  For  a  mother  who  wants  her  son  to  "  get  everything  good 
from  his  technical  course." 

3.  The  Delights  of  Fishing. 

a.  For  a  woman  who  cannot  understand  why  her  husband 
wants  to  be  always  going  on  silly  fishing  trips. 

b.  For  a  group  of  city  men  who  are  devotees  of  the  sport. 

c.  For  a  small  boy  who  hopes  some  day  to  go  with  "Dad" 
on  his  trips. 

4.  The  Value  of  the  Civic  Center. 

a.  For  a  man  who  resents  the  extra  taxation  that  would  be 
necessary  to  make  one  in  his  city. 

b.  For  a  prominent,  public-spirited  architect. 

'  John  RLisefield  :  Gallipoli.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers.  The  Macmillan  Company, 
New  York  City. 


72  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

c.  For  a  young  woman  graduate  from  college  who  eagerly 
desires  to  "do  something"  for  her  city. 
5.  The  Spirit  of  the  "Middle  West,"  the  "Old  South"  or  any 
other  section  of  the  country. 

a.  For  a  proud  resident. 

b.  For  a  sniffy  resident  of  another  section. 

c.  For  a  person  who  has  never  thought  of  such  a  thing. 


CHAPTER  III 
DEFINITION 

Definition  is  the  process  of  explaining  a  subject  by  set- 
ting bounds  to  it,  enclosing  it  within  its  limits,  showing  its 
extent.  The  ocean  is  properly  defined  by  the  shore;  a  con- 
tinent or  island  is  defined  by  its  coastline :  shores  set  limits 
to  the  ocean;  coastlines  bound  the  island  or  continent.  So, 
when  a  child  asks,  "What  is  Switzerland?"  you  show  on  the 
map  the  pink  or  yellow  or  green  space  that  is  included  within 
certain  definite  boundaries.  These  boundaries  set  a  limit 
to  the  extent  of  that  country;  in  other  words,  they  define 
it.  As  soon  as  a  traveler  steps  beyond  the  limit  of  that 
country,  he  is  at  once  in  another  realm,  has  become  identi- 
fied with  a  quite  different  set  of  conditions  and  circumstances 
—  he  is,  in  fact,  in  a  country  that  has  a  different  definition 
from  that  of  Switzerland.  In  the  same  way,  when  some  one 
asks  what  truth  is,  or  nickel  steel,  or  a  grand  piano,  or 
humanism,  or  art,  or  rotation  of  crops,  or  a  rocking  chair, 
or  the  forward  pass,  you  attempt,  in  your  reply,  to  set 
bounds  to  the  thing  in  question,  to  restrict  it,  to  fence  it  off, 
to  state  the  line  beyond  which  if  it  goes  it  ceases  to  be  one 
thing  and  becomes  another.  It  is  by  no  means  always  an 
easy  task  to  find  this  line.  Many  a  child  has  come  to  grief 
in  his  attempts  to  keep  safely  within  the  limits  of  truth  and 
yet  be  close  up  to  the  realm  of  desirable  falsehood.  Like- 
wise many  witnesses  in  court  have  been  beguiled  or  brow- 
beaten into  crossing  the  line  without  knowing  that  they 
were  getting  into  the  country  of  the  enemy.  But  though 
the  quest  for  the  line  may  be  difficult,  a  true  definition  must 
set  off  the  thing  being  defined  from  other  things,  must  set 
bounds  to  it,  enclose  it  within  its  limits,  show  its  extent. 


74  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  Process  of  Definition 

The  logical  process  of  defining  consists  of  two  steps :  first, 
stating  the  class  or  group  to  which  the  object  of  definition 
belongs,  as  to  say  that  Switzerland  is  a  country,  the  forward 
pass  is  a  strategic  device  in  football,  humanism  is  a  philosophy 
of  personal  development;  and  second,  pointing  out  the  differ- 
ence between  the  object  of  definition  and  other  members  of 
the  class,  showing  how  it  is  distinguished  from  them.  Since 
the  purpose  of  definition  is  to  limit  the  thing  defined,  the 
practical  value  of  the  first  step  is  at  once  apparent.  If,  in 
total  ignorance,  a  resident  of  India  asks  you,  "What  is 
ragtime?"  the  most  helpful  thing  in  the  world  that  you  can 
do  for  him  is  to  cleave  away  with  one  stroke  everything  else 
in  the  world  but  music  —  absolute  exclusion  of  all  other 
human  interests  —  and  place  ragtime  in  that  comparatively 
narrow  field.  /  That  is  the  first  thing  of  great  help.  How- 
ever many  qualities  you  may  attribute  to  ragtime,  — 
whether  you  call  it  inspiring,  invigorating,  pleasing,  detest- 
able, or  what  not,  —  you  are  making  at  best  only  slow  prog- 
ress toward  defining,  really  limiting  ragtime.  The  number 
of  pleasing  things,  for  example,  is  so  endless,  and  the  things 
are  so  diverse  in  character  that  your  listener  is  almost  as 
ignorant  after  such  a  quality  has  been  attributed  as  he  was 
before.  But  the  moment  that  you  limit  ragtime  to  music 
you  scatter  untold  clouds  of  doubt  and  place  the  inquirer 
in  the  comfortable  position  of  having  a  fairly  large  working 
knowledge.  What  is  left  for  the  inquirer  to  do  is  merely  to 
distinguish  ragtime  from  other  kinds  of  music  —  after  all, 
a  rather  simple  task.  Likewise  in  any  definition,  such  as 
that  of  rotation  of  crops,  the  first  necessity  is  to  place  the 
subject  in  its  proper  field,  in  this  case  agriculture;  the  grand 
piano  in  the  class  of  musical  instruments;  the  rocking  chair 
in  the  class  of  furniture. 

Now  sometimes  the  task  of  discovering  to  what  class  your 


DEFINITION  75 

subject  belongs  is  difficult.  Is  a  believer  in  Unitarianisra  a 
Christian?  He  follows  the  ethical  teachings  of  Jesus  but 
denies  him  any  special  divinity.  In  this  case  obviously  the 
question  of  classification  will  depend  on  the  definition  that 
we  make  of  Christianity.  Is  a  man  who  serves  the  state 
in  legislative  or  judicial  capacity  and  at  the  same  time  writes 
novels  to  be  called  a  statesman  or  a  man  of  letters?  Govern- 
ments have  fallen  into  difficulty  with  each  other  over  such 
things  as  contraband  of  war,  there  being  great  doubt  at 
times  whether  a  particular  thing  is  properly  contraband  or 
not.  The  question  is  sometimes  doubtful  —  you  will  be 
inclined  to  say,  "I  don't  know  what  to  call  this,"  but  in 
making  a  definition  call  it  you  must.  The  United  States 
Government,  facing  the  problem  of  discovering  the  proper 
class  for  frogs'  legs,  in  determining  customs  duties  after 
much  perturbation  placed  them  under  the  heading  "poul- 
try." Ordinarily  you  will  find  slight  difficulty  in  determin- 
ing the  class;  but  in  every  case  you  must  patiently  search 
until  you  have  found  some  class  into  which  your  subject 
naturally  fits.  Until  you  have  done  this  you  obviously  can- 
not set  it  apart  from  other  members,  because  you  will  not 
really  know  what  the  other  members  are,  you  will  be  forced 
to  run  through  the  total  list  of  human  ideas  and  things. 
Until  you  know  that  oligarchy  is  one  form  of  political  society 
you  cannot  know  whether  to  set  it  off  from  democracy  and 
monarchy  or  from  Christianity  and  Buddhism.  First,  then, 
however  difficult,  discover  the  class  to  which  your  subject 
belongs.  In  the  following  definition  of  a  clearing-house,  you 
will  find  that  in  the  course  of  time  the  class  to  which  the  sub- 
ject belongs  has  changed,  has  come  to  include  more  space, 
needs  a  larger  fence  to  surround  it,  and  therefore  the  defi- 
nition has  been  changed. 

What  is  a  clearing-house?    The  Supreme  Court  of  the  State  of 
Pennsylvania  has  defined  it  thus:  "It  is  an  ingenious  device  to 


76  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

simplify  and  facilitate  the  work  of  the  banks  in  reaching  an  adjust- 
ment and  payment  of  the  daily  balances  due  to  and  from  each  other 
at  one  time  and  in  one  place  on  each  day.  In  practical  operation 
it  is  a  place  where  all  the  representatives  of  the  banks  in  a  given 
city  meet,  and,  under  the  supervision  of  a  competent  committee 
or  officer  selected  by  the  associated  banks,  settle  their  accounts 
with  each  other  and  make  or  receive  payments  of  balances  and 
so  'clear'  the  transactions  of  the  day  for  which  the  settlement  is 
made." 

But  we  must  go  farther  than  this,  for  though  originally  designed 
as  a  labor-saving  device,  the  clearing-house  has  expanded  far  be- 
yond those  limits,  until  it  has  become  a  medium  for  united  action 
among  the  banks  in  ways  that  did  not  exist  even  in  the  imagina- 
tions of  those  who  were  instrumental  in  its  inception.  A  clearing- 
house, therefore,  may  be  defined  as  a  device  to  simplify  and  facili- 
tate the  daily  exchange  of  items  and  settlements  of  balances  among 
the  banks,  and  a  medium  for  united  action  upon  all  questions  af- 
fecting their  mutual  welfare.^ 

The  second  step  in  the  logical  process  of  definition  is  to 
show  how  the  subject  for  definition  differs  from  other  mem- 
bers of  its  class.  Once  I  am  told  that  the  piano  is  a  musical 
instrument  I  must  next  learn  wherein  it  differs  from  the  vio- 
lin, the  kettle-drum,  and  the  English  horn.  The  surname 
Tomlinson  partly  defines  a  person  as  a  member  of  the  Tom- 
linson  family,  but  the  definition  is  not  complete  until  the 
name  is  modified  and  the  person  is  distinguished  by  George 
or  Charles  or  whatever  name  may  belong  to  him.  A  skillful 
shepherd  knows  not  only  his  flocks  but  also  the  character- 
istics of  the  different  members  of  the  flocks,  so  that  he  can 
say,  "This  sheep  is  the  one  in  X  flock  that  is  always  getting 
into  the  clover."  Here  "X  flock"  is  the  class,  and  the  qual- 
ity of  abusing  the  clover  is  the  distinguishing  individual 
tag.  Since  the  desire  in  this  part  of  the  process  of  defining 
is  to  set  individuals  apart,  no  mention  will  be  made  of  quali- 

'  Frnncis  M.  Burdirk:  The  Essentials  nf  liiisinms  Law.  T?y  courtesy  of  I  lie  publishers, 
D.  Applcloa  &  Co.,  New  York  City.     Copyright  1902,  1908,  by  D.  Appleton  fii  Co. 


DEFINITION  77 

ties  that  are  shared  in  common  but  only  of  those  that  are 
pecuhar  to  the  individual.  These  quahties  that  distinguish 
individual  members  of  classes  from  each  other  are  called  the 
differentia,  just  as  the  class  is  commonly  called  the  genus. 

For  convenience  in  keeping  the  list  of  differentia  reason- 
ably small,  to  avoid  unwieldiness  of  definition,  care  must  be 
exercised  in  choosing  the  class.  When  a  class  which  itself 
contains  other  possible  classes  is  chosen,  a  long  list  of  dif- 
ferentia will  be  necessary.  It  is  well,  therefore,  to  choose  a 
relatively  small  class  to  begin  with.  For  example,  if  I  put 
the  piano  into  the  large  class  of  musical  instruments,  I  shall 
then  be  under  the  necessity  of  amassing  sufficient  differentia 
to  set  it  apart  from  wind  instruments  whether  of  brass 
or  wood,  from  instruments  of  percussion,  and  from  other 
stringed  instruments  that  do  not  use  metal  strings.  If  I 
restrict  the  class  to  stringed  instruments,  I  thereby  exclude 
the  differentia  of  both  wind  instruments  and  instruments  of 
percussion.  If  I  further  restrict  the  class,  at  the  beginning, 
to  instruments  with  metal  strings,  I  need  then  to  employ  only 
such  differentia  as  will  set  it  off,  perhaps,  from  instruments 
that  do  not  have  a  sounding  board  for  their  metal  strings. 
Such  restriction  of  the  class  is  advisable  chiefly  for  pur- 
poses of  economy  of  effort  in  discovering  the  differentia, 
and  is  usually  accomplished,  in  expression,  by  preceding 
the  class  name  with  a  limiting  adjective  or  by  using  a  limit- 
ing phrase.  This  adjective  or  this  phrase  is  likely  to  be  the 
expression  of  differentia  among  smaller  classes,  the  differ- 
entia among  individual  members  being  stated  more  at 
length  later  in  the  definition. 

»  The  process  of  definition  will  be  complete,  then,  when  the 
subject  of  definition  has  been  assigned  to  a  class,  which  for 
convenience  should  be  relatively  small,  and  the  qualities  that 
distinguish  the  subject  from  other  members  of  the  class  have 
been  found. 


78  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  Two  Main  Classes  of  Definitions 

Two  main  classes  of  definition  exist:  first,  the  rigidly- 
logical,  scientific  kind  such  as  is  found  in  dictionaries,  text- 
books, and  other  such  writings  which  are  not  concerned 
with  emotional  values;  and  second,  the  less  rigid,  more  ex- 
panded, more  informal  kind  which  aims  to  please  as  well  as 
to  instruct,  and  which  is  found  in  essays  and  all  forms  of 
writing  with  a  strong  human  appeal.  The  two  kinds  are 
alike  in  the  presence  of  both  genus  and  differentia;  they 
differ  chiefly  in  the  presence,  in  the  less  formal,  of  the  qualities 
of  pleasingness  and  stimulation  as  opposed  to  the  quality, 
in  the  formal,  of  scientific  impersonality,  cold  intellectuality. 
For  example,  the  Standard  Dictionary  defines  a  corre- 
spondent as  "one  who  communicates  by  means  of  letters; 
specifically  one  who  sends  regular  communications  from  a 
distant  place  to  a  newspaper  or  a  business  house."  The 
author  of  the  volume  entitled  Famous  War  Correspondents  ^ 
defines,  with  much  the  same  fundamental  ideas,  if  not  in- 
deed exactly  the  same,  a  war  correspondent  as  follows: 

The  war  correspondent  is  a  newspaper  man  assigned  to  cover  a 
campaign.  He  goes  into  the  field  with  the  army,  expecting  to  send 
his  reports  from  that  witching  region  known  as  "the  front."  He 
is  a  special  correspondent  commissioned  to  collect  intelhgence  and 
transmit  it  from  the  camp  and  the  battle  ground.  A  non-comba- 
tant, he  mingles  freely  with  men  whose  busmess  it  is  to  fight.  He 
may  be  ten  thousand  miles  from  the  home  office,  but  he  finds  com- 
petition as  keen  as  ever  it  is  in  Fleet  Street  or  Newspaper  Row.  He 
is  engaged  in  the  most  dramatic  department  of  a  profession  whose 
infinite  variety  is  equalled  only  by  its  fascination.  If  he  becomes 
a  professional  rather  than  an  occasional  correspondent,  wandering 
will  be  his  business  and  adventure  his  daUy  fare.  Mr.  A.  G.  Hales 
is  of  the  opinion  that  the  newspaper  man  who  is  chosen  as  a  war 
correspondent  has  won  the  Victoria  Cross  of  journalism. 

*  F.  L.  Bullard:  Famous  War  Correspondents.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers.  Little,  Brown 
&  Co.,  Boston.    Copyright,  1914. 


DEFINITION  79 

For  the  making  of  a  first-rate  war  correspondent  there  are  re- 
quired all  the  qualifications  of  a  capable  reporter  in  any  other 
branch  of  the  profession,  and  others  besides.  Perhaps  it  is  true 
that  the  regular  hack  work  of  the  ordinary  newspaper  man  is  the 
best  training  for  the  scribe  of  war.  The  men  who  had  reported 
fires  and  train  wrecks  in  American  cities  proved  themselves  able 
to  describe  vigorously  and  clearly  the  campaign  in  Cuba.  William 
Howard  Russell  had  been  doing  a  great  variety  of  descriptive 
writing  before  he  was  sent  to  the  Crimea.  The  prime  requisites  for 
a  satisfactory  war  correspondent  are  those  fimdamental  to  success 
in  any  kind  of  newspaper  work,  the  ability  to  see  straight,  to  write 
vividly  and  accurately,  and  to  get  a  story  on  the  wire. 

Occasionally  a  brilliant  workman  appears  from  nowhere,  the 
happy  possessor  of  an  almost  uncanny  intuition  of  movements 
and  purposes.  Such  a  man  was  Archibald  Forbes.  But  Forbes, 
no  less  than  the  average  special,  had  to  have  the  physical  capacity 
to  march  with  the  private  soldier,  to  ride  a  hundred  miles  at  a  clip 
at  top  speed  over  rough  country,  to  sleep  in  the  open,  to  stand  the 
heat  of  the  desert  and  the  cold  of  the  mountain  height,  to  endure 
hunger  and  thirst  and  all  the  deprivations  of  a  hard  campaign. 
Every  correspondent  at  times  must  keep  going  until  his  strength 
is  utterly  spent.  He  must  have  the  tenacity  which  does  not  yield 
to  exhaustion  until  his  messages  are  written  and  on  the  way  to  his 
paper.  When  the  soldier  ceases  fighting,  the  correspondent's 
work  is  only  begun.  He  needs  also  to  have  a  degree  of  familiar- 
ity with  the  affairs  of  the  present  and  the  history  of  the  past  which 
will  secure  him  the  respect  of  the  officers  with  whom  he  may  asso- 
ciate. Along  with  the  courage  of  the  scout  he  should  possess  the 
suavity  and  tact  of  the  diplomat,  for  he  will  have  to  get  along 
with  men  of  all  types,  and  occasionally,  mdeed,  his  own  influence 
may  overlap  into  the  field  of  international  diplomacy.  British 
correspondents,  having  covered  many  wars,  small  and  great,  since 
1870,  usually  are  acquainted  with  several  languages,  and  often 
have  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  technicalities  of  military  science. 

Of  the  two  kinds  of  definition  —  formal  and  informal  — 
you  will  more  often  have  occasion  to  write  the  second.  You 
must  guard  against  the  danger,  in  such  writing,  of  allowing 


80  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

the  interest  to  cloud  the  truth,  of  being  led  into  inaccurate 
partial  statements  by  your  desire  to  please.  At  the  root 
of  every  good  definition  is  still  the  accurate  statement  of 
genus  and  differentia.  It  is  chiefly  of  the  second  kind  that 
we  shall  treat  here.  If  you  can  write  a  definition  that  is 
pleasing  and  stimulating  and  also  accurate,  you  can  always 
boil  it  down  into  the  more  bald  formal  statement  such  as  the 
dictionary  offers.  Whatever  powers  of  grace  or  neatness  in 
expression  you  possess,  whatever  powers  of  saying  things  in 
a  pleasing  manner,  it  is  your  privilege  to  employ  in  the  writ- 
ing of  definitions. 

General  Cautions 

For  the  sake  of  clearness  and  general  effectiveness  a  few 
cautions  need  to  be  made.  In  the  first  place,  be  sure  to  ex- 
clude everything  from  your  definition  that  does  not  properly 
belong  in  it.  For  example,  if  you  define  the  aeroplane  as  a 
machine  that  journeys  through  the  air  under  its  own  power, 
you  include  dirigible  balloons,  which  are  not  aeroplanes. 
You  must  introduce  both  the  characteristics  of  being  heavier 
than  air  and  of  having  a  plane  or  planes  before  your  defini- 
tion can  stand.  You  will  make  this  exclusion  by  choosing 
both  class  and  differentia  with  the  greatest  care. 

In  the  second  place,  include  everything  that  does  properly 
belong  in  the  definition.  If  you  define  a  bridge  as  a  roadway 
over  a  stream,  either  resting  on  piers  or  hanging  on  cables 
strung  over  towers,  you  exclude  pontoon  bridges  certainly, 
and  all  bridges  across  dry  chasms,  if  not  other  kinds.  Not 
imtil  you  include  all  varieties  of  things  crossed  and  all  the 
methods  of  support  and  the  various  materials  used  will  your 
definition  be  sound  and  complete.  This  does  not  mean  that 
you  will  have  to  make  an  endless  list  of  all  possible  forms, 
but  that  you  will  make  a  comprehensive  statement  which 
will  allow  of  being  distributed  over  all  the  different  forms 
and  kinds  of  bridges. 


DEFINITION  81 

In  the  third  place,  use  simple  and  familiar  diction.  Since 
the  first  purpose  of  a  definition  is  to  explain,  one  that  is  ob- 
scure or  difiicult  makes  confusion  worse  confounded.  The 
famous  —  or  notorious  —  definition  which  Dr.  Johnson 
made  of  so  simple  a  thing  as  network,  "anything  reticulated 
or  decussated  at  equal  distances  with  interstices  between 
the  intersections,"  is  worse  than  useless  because  it  posi- 
tively throws  dust  upon  a  comparatively  easy  matter  to 
perceive  —  unless  the  reader  take  time  out  for  meditation. 
Remember  that  the  Gettysburg  Address  and  many  of  Shake- 
speare's sonnets  are  largely  in  words  of  one  syllable.  And 
then  do  not  be  afraid  that  you  will  be  understood;  the  fire 
is  always  presumably  somewhat  more  uncomfortable  than 
the  frying-pan. 

In  the  fourth  place,  do  not  use  the  term  that  you  are  de- 
fining, or  any  derivative  of  it.  When  college  freshmen,  in 
mortal  combat  with  a  quiz  question,  define  a  description 
as  something  that  describes,  they  use  words  that  profit  them 
nothing.  That  a  cow  is  a  cow  is  fairly  obvious.  The  tempta- 
tion to  make  this  mistake,  which,  in  the  intellectual  world, 
occupies  the  relative  space  of  the  saucy  old  advice,  "Chase 
yourself  round  the  block!"  occurs  usually  when  a  long  defi- 
nition is  being  written,  in  which  the  writer  forgets  to  keep 
the  horizon  clear,  and  finally  falls  into  the  formula  x  is  x. 
To  avoid  yielding  to  such  temptation,  you  will  do  well,  after 
a  definition  is  complete,  to  phrase  it  in  a  single  sentence 
which  shall  include  both  differentia  and  genus,  and  in  which 
you  can  easily  discover  the  evil  formula  x  is  x.  Bardolph, 
in  Shakespeare's  King  Henry  IV,  yields  to  the  temptation 
—  for  which  we  are  glad  as  to  humor  but  not  made  wise  as  to 
meaning  —  when  Shallow  puts  him  to  the  test: 

Shalloio:  Better  accommodated!  it  is  good;  yea,  indeed,  it  is: 
good  phrases  are  surely,  and  ever  were,  very  commendable.  Ac- 
commodated !  it  comes  of  accommodo :  very  good ;  a  good  phrase. 

Bardolph:  Pardon  me,  sir;  I  have  heard  the  word.     Phrase  call 


82  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

you  it?  by  this  good  day,  I  know  not  the  phrase;  but  I  will  maintain 
the  word  with  my  sword  to  be  a  soldier-like  word,  and  a  word 
of  exceeding  good  command,  by  heaven.  Accommodated;  that  is, 
when  a  man  is,  as  they  say,  accommodated;  or  when  a  man  is, 
being,  whereby  'a  may  be  thought  to  be  accommodated;  which  is 
an  excellent  thing. 

In  the  fifth  place,  be  sure  that  you  define,  and  do  not 
merely  "talk  about"  the  subject.  Any  amount  of  however 
interesting  comment  that  fails  to  accomplish  the  two  neces- 
sities of  definition,  statement  of  the  genus  and  the  differentia, 
is  futile ;  it  is  not  definition.  This  temptation,  like  the  former 
one,  will  be  overcome  if  you  take  the  trouble  to  phrase  the 
actual  material  of  your  definition  in  one  sentence  that  really 
includes  both  genus  and  differentia.  As  a  minor  suggestion, 
do  not  begin  your  definition  with  the  words,  "X  is  when" 
or  "X  is  where,"  unless  you  are  defining  either  a  unit  of 
time  or  a  place  —  and  even  then  you  will  do  well  to  avoid 
these  too  frequently  used  phrases. 

Finally,  do  not  make  your  definition  too  mechanical,  too 
much  lacking  in  real  life.  Thinking  of  how  you  must  deal 
•with,  genus  and  differentia,  you  are  liable  to  be  overwhelmed 
with  the  grim  duty  of  being  logical,  and  to  forget  that  you 
should  also  be  human,  that  people  read  definitions,  as  other 
kinds  of  writing,  in  the  double  hope  of  information  and 
pleasure.  No  real  antagonism  exists  between  logic  of  the 
strictest  kind  and  pleasurable  presentation,  as  is  proved 
by  the  examples  quoted  during  the  course  of  this  chapter 
and  at  the  end.  Wliile  you  remember  your  subject,  re- 
member also  your  reader;  then  you  will  be  unlikely  to  make 
a  dull  definition. 

Methods  of  Defining 

You  may  use  various  methods  of  defining.  Sometimes  you 
will  choose  only  one,  and  sometimes  you  will  combine. 


DEFINITION  83 

There  is  no  special  virtue  in  one  method  more  than  another 
except  as  sometimes  one  happens  to  be  more  useful  for  a 
given  case,  as  we  shall  see.  In  selecting  your  method,  then, 
select  on  the  basis  of  practical  workability  for  the  effect  that 
you  desire  to  create,  adhering  to  one  or  using  several  as 
seems  most  effective. 

a.   The  Method  of  Illustration 

One  of  the  most  useful,  natural,  and  easy  methods  is  that 
of  giving  an  example  or  illustration  of  the  thing  that  is  being 
defined.  The  great  usefulness  of  this  method  lies  in  the 
stimulating  quality  that  the  concrete  example  always  has. 
If  you  wish  to  define  an  abstract  quality,  for  example,  such 
as  patriotism,  or  honor,  or  generosity,  you  will  often  find  ad- 
vantage, for  the  first,  in  calling  up  the  figure  of  Washington, 
of  Lincoln,  of  Cromwell;  in  citing,  for  the  second,  the  case  of 
some  man  who,  after  bankruptcy,  has  set  himself  to  pay  all 
his  former  debts,  or  of  Regulus  who,  though  he  had  the  chance 
not  to  keep  his  promise  to  return  to  Carthage  as  prisoner, 
yet  bade  Rome  farewell  and  returned  to  unspeakable  torture; 
in  presenting,  for  the  third,  a  specific  set  of  conditions,  such 
as  possession  of  only  one  dime,  which  is  then  shared  with  an- 
other person  who  is  even  less  fortunate,  or  showing  a  known 
A  person,  like  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  who,  though  at  death's  door 
on  the  field  of  battle,  urged  that  the  exquisite  joy  of  cold 
water  be  given  to  a  comrade  who  was  even  more  terribly  in 
need.  In  every  one  of  these  cases  the  quality  under  defi- 
nition is  presented  in  an  easily  grasped,  concrete  form  that 
has  the  great  advantage  of  human  interest,  of  stimulating 
the  reader's  thought.  That  using  such  a  method  is  natural 
is  apparent  as  soon  as  we  remember  that  we  think  largely 
in  concrete  forms,  specific  cases.  That  it  is  rather  easy  is 
obvious,  because  so  many  instances  are  always  at  hand  to  be 
used. 

The  danger  in  this  method  is  that  the  example  chosen  will 


84  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

not  be  entirely  fair.  Such  lack  of  fairness  may  occur  if  the 
example  covers  too  little  ground  of  the  definition  or  if  it 
too  highly  accentuates  one  phase  of  the  subject  of  definition. 
If,  for  instance,  you  cite  the  example  of  the  man  who  gave 
away  his  only  pair  of  shoes,  as  an  example  of  generosity,  you 
may  run  the  risk  of  making  the  reader  think  that  nothing  but 
an  extreme  act  has  the  real  stamp  of  the  generous  giver,  or 
that  generosity  is  expressed  only  in  material  ways,  forgetting 
that  it  is  generous  to  acknowledge  a  fault  or  to  overlook  un- 
intended affront.  To  avoid  this  danger  be  sure  that  your 
example  is  fair  and  sufficiently  comprehensive,  and  if  it  is 
not,  choose  other  examples  to  add  to  it  until  you  are  con- 
vinced of  the  all-round  fitness  of  your  definition.  In  the 
following  examples  you  may  feel  that  Gissing  does  not 
wholly  define  poverty,  whereas  Shaw  is  more  complete  in  his 
approach  to  defining  ability  that  gives  value  for  money,  and 
Mr.  Morman  by  taking  a  typical  example  and  working  it 
out  arrives  at  complete  understanding  with  perhaps  less  of 
piquant  interest. 

Blackberries  hanging  thick  upon  the  hedge  bring  to  my  memory 
something  of  long  ago.  I  had  somehow  escaped  into  the  country 
and  on  a  long  walk  began  to  feel  mid-day  hunger.  The  wayside 
brambles  were  fruiting;  I  picked  and  ate,  and  ate  on,  until  I  had 
come  within  sight  of  an  inn  where  I  might  have  made  a  good  meal. 
But  my  hunger  was  satisfied;  I  had  no  need  of  anything  more,  and, 
as  I  thought  of  it,  a  strange  feeling  of  surprise,  a  sort  of  bewilder- 
ment, came  upon  me.  What!  Could  it  be  that  I  had  eaten,  and 
eaten  sufficiently,  without  paying  ?  It  struck  me  as  an  extraordi- 
nary thing.  At  that  time,  my  ceaseless  preoccupation  was  how  to 
obtain  money  to  keep  myself  alive.  Many  a  day  I  had  suffered 
hunger  because  I  durst  not  spend  the  few  corns  I  possessed;  the 
food  I  could  buy  was  in  any  case  unsatisfactory,  unvaried.  But 
here  nature  had  given  me  a  feast,  which  seemed  delicious,  and  I 
had  eaten  all  I  wanted.  The  wonder  held  me  for  a  long  time,  and 
to  this  day  I  can  recall  it,  understand  it. 


DEFINITION  85 

I  think  there  could  be  no  better  illustration  of  what  it  means  to 
be  poor  in  a  great  town.^ 

In  business,  as  a  rule,  a  man  must  make  what  he  gets  and  some- 
thing over  into  the  bargain.  I  have  known  a  man  to  be  employed 
by  a  firm  of  underwriters  to  interview  would-be  insurers.  His  sole 
business  was  to  talk  to  them  and  decide  whether  to  insure  or  not. 
Salary,  £4000  a  year.  This  meant  that  the  loss  of  his  judgment 
would  have  cost  his  employers  more  than  £4000  a  year.  Other 
men  have  an  eye  for  contracts  or  whatnot,  or  are  born  captains  of 
industry,  in  which  cases  they  go  into  business  on  their  own  account, 
and  make  ten,  twent3%  or  two  hundred  per  cent  where  you  or  I 
would  lose  five.  Or,  to  turn  back  a  moment  from  the  giants  to  the 
minnows,  take  the  case  of  a  woman  with  the  knack  of  cutting  out 
a  dress.  She  gets  six  guineas  a  week  instead  of  eighteen  shillings. 
Or  she  has  perhaps  a  ladylike  air  and  a  figure  on  which  a  mantle 
looks  well.  For  these  she  can  get  several  guineas  a  week  merely 
by  standing  in  a  show-room  letting  mantles  be  tried  on  her  before 
customers.  All  these  people  are  renters  of  ability;  and  their  abil- 
ity is  inseparable  from  them  and  dies  with  them.  The  excess  of 
their  gains  over  those  of  an  ordinary  person  with  the  same  capital 
and  education  is  the  "rent"  of  the  exceptional  "fertility."  But  ob- 
serve, if  the  able  person  makes  £100,000,  and  leaves  that  to  his  son, 
who,  being  but  an  ordinary  gentleman,  can  get  only  from  two  and 
a  half  to  four  per  cent  on  it,  that  revenue  is  pure  interest  on  capital 
and  in  no  sense  whatever  rent  of  ability.  ^ 

By  "amortization  "  is  meant  the  method  of  paying  a  debt  by  reg- 
ular semi-annual  or  annual  installments.     To  illustrate: 

Suppose  a  farmer  gives  a  mortgage  on  his  farm  of  $1000,  with 
interest  at  5  per  cent.  In  addition  to  the  interest,  he  agrees  to  pay 
2  per  cent  a  year  on  the  principal.  This  makes  a  total  of  7  per  cent 
a  year,  or  a  payment  of  $70,  which  may  be  paid  in  two  semi-annual 
installments  of  $35  each.  The  first  year's  interest  and  payment  on 
the  principal  are  taken  as  the  amount  to  be  paid  annually.    But 

*  George  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecrofi,  "Autumn."  By  permission  of 
the  pulilishers,  E.  P.  Diitton  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 

2  George  B.  Shaw:  Socialism,  and  Superior  Brains.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  John 
Lane  Company,  New  York  City. 


86  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

of  the  first  payment,  $50  represents  the  interest  and  $20  the  pay- 
ment on  the  prmcipal.  After  the  first  year's  payment,  therefore, 
instead  of  owing  $1000,  the  farmer  owes  only  $980,  with  interest  at 
5  per  cent. 

For  the  sake  of  simplicity,  let  us  suppose  that  payments  are 
made  annually.  When  the  next  time  of  payment  comes  round,  the 
.  farmer  pays  his  $70.  Since  his  debt  is  less,  the  interest  the  second 
year  amounts  to  $49  instead  of  $50,  and  therefore  the  payment  on 
the  principal  is  $21  instead  of  $20  as  it  was  the  first  year.  In  the 
second  year  the  debt  is  reduced  to  $959. 

On  the  return  of  the  third  time  of  payment  the  farmer  pays  an- 
other $70,  of  which  amount  $47.95  represents  the  interest  and 
$22.05  the  payment  on  the  principal.  This  reduces  the  farmer's 
mortgage  debt  to  $936.95. 

Now,  this  system  of  payment  and  method  of  reducing  the  debt 
continues  until  the  mortgage  has  been  lifted  by  a  gradual  process. 
Thus,  while  the  annual  payments  are  always  the  same,  the  amount 
of  interest  is  always  decreasing  and  the  amount  of  the  payments 
on  the  debt  is  always  increasing.  Consequently,  the  mortgage 
is  paid  off  m  ten  to  forty  years  according  to  the  rate  of  payment 
on  the  loan  that  the  debtor  himself  elects  to  pay  when  the  con- 
tract is  made.  This  is  the  simple  principle  of  amortization,  and  it 
is  recognized  in  Europe  as  the  safest,  easiest,  and  best  method  of 
reducing  land-mortgage  indebtedness  hitherto  conceived  and  put 
into  practice.^ 

If,  then,  you  have  a  subject  that  is  abstract  and  perhaps 
difficult  to  understand  in  abstract  explanation;  if  you  wish, 
to  stimulate  your  readers  and  make  their  reading  pleasant; 
if,  for  any  reason,  you  wish  to  write  informally,  then  you 
may  well  decide  to  employ  the  useful,  natural,  and  easy 
method  of  definition  by  illustration. 

b.    The  Method  of  Comparison  or  Contrast 

A  second  method,  closely  akin  to  that  by  illustration,  is 
the  method  of  defining  by  comparison  or  contrast.     The 

•  3.  Ji.MoTma.n:  Principles  of  Rural  Credil.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers.  The  Macmil- 
Ian  Company,  New  York  City. 


DEFINITION  87 

value  of  this  method  Hes  in  its  hveliness  and  the  ease  wihe 
which  it  makes  an  idea  comprehended.  The  livehness  de- 
rives largely  from  the  usual  presence  of  specific  facts  or 
things  with  which  the  subject  of  definition  is  compared  or  to 
which  it  is  contrasted,  and  from  the  imaginative  stimulus 
that  perception  of  similarity  in  function  creates.  The  im- 
plied definition  of  leader  in  politics  in  Lincoln's  famous  re- 
mark about  changing  political  parties  in  war  time,  "Don't 
swap  horses  while  crossing  a  stream,"  is  not  only  true,  but 
more,  it  is  interesting.  The  ease  of  comprehension  is  due 
largely  to  employing  the  method  of  proceeding  from  the 
known  to  the  unknown  in  that  comparison  is  usually  made 
to  things  already  familiar.  If  contrast  is  used,  there  is  the 
added  interest  of  dramatic  presentation  found  especially 
in  oratorical  definitions.  Liveliness  and  ease  in  comprehen- 
sion make  this  method  a  valuable  one  in  addressing  a  popular 
or  an  unlearned  body  of  readers;  it  presents  the  truth  and  it 
enlists  interest.  In  the  following  examples  you  will  not  be 
aware  of  dramatic  quality  in  the  first  but  you  will  find 
picturesque  qualities  in  both. 

Lord  Cromer  describes  a  responsible  statesman  in  a  democracy 
as  very  much  in  the  position  of  a  man  in  a  boat  off  the  mouth  of 
a  tidal  river.  He  long  has  to  strive  against  wind  and  current  until 
finally  a  favorable  conjunction  of  weather  and  tide  forms  a  wave 
upon  which  he  rides  safely  into  the  harbor.  There  is  an  essential 
truth  in  this  which  no  man  attempting  to  play  the  part  of  leader 
in  a  democracy  can  forget  except  at  his  peril.  Government  by 
public  opinion  is  bound  to  get  a  sufficient  body  of  public  opinion 
on  its  side.  But  withal  it  is  manifestly  the  duty  of  a  leader  to  help 
form  a  just  public  opinion.  He  must  dare  to  be  temporarily  un- 
popular, if  only  in  that  way  he  can  get  a  temporary  hearing  for  the 
truths  which  the  people  ought  to  have  presented  to  them.  He  is  to 
execute  the  popular  will,  but  he  is  not  to  neglect  shaping  it.  It  is 
his  duty  to  be  properly  receptive,  but  his  main  striving  ought  to  be 
that  virtue  should  go  out  of  him  to  touch  and  quicken  the  masses 
of  his  citizens.     If  their  minds  and  imaginations  are  played  upon 


88  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

with  sufficient  persistence  and  sufficient  skill,  they  will  give  him 
back  his  own  ideas  with  enthusiasm.  A  man  who  throws  a  ball 
agamst  a  wall  gets  it  back  again  as  if  hurled  by  the  dead  brick  and 
mortar;  but  the  original  impulse  is  in  his  own  muscle.  So  a  demo- 
cratic leader  may  say,  if  he  chooses,  that  he  takes  only  what  is 
pressed  upon  him  by  the  people;  but  his  function  is  often  first  to 
press  it  upon  them.^ 

The  quack  novel  is  a  thing  which  looks  like  a  book,  and  which 
is  compounded,  advertised,  and  marketed  in  precisely  the  same 
fashion  as  Castoria,  Wine  of  Cardui,  Alcola,  Mrs.  Summers's  free- 
to-you-my-sister  Harmless  Headache  Remedy,  Viavi  Tablettes,  and 
other  patent  medicines,  harmful  and  harmless.  As  the  patent  med- 
icine is  made  of  perfectly  well-known  drugs,  so  the  quack  novel 
of  course  contains  perfectly  familiar  elements,  and  like  the  medicine, 
it  comes  wrapped  in  superlative  testimonials  from  those  who  say 
they  have  swallowed  it  to  their  advantage.  Instead  of  "After 
twenty  years  of  bed-ridden  agony,  one  bottle  of  your  Fosforo  cured 
every  ache  and  completely  restored  my  manhood,"  we  have  "The 
secret  of  his  powers  is  the  same  God-given  secret  that  inspired 
Shakespeare  and  upheld  Dickens."  This,  from  the  Philadelphia 
Sunday  Dispatch,  accompanies  a  quack  novel  by  Mr.  Harold  Bell 
Wright,  of  whom  the  Portland,  Oregon,  Journal  remarks,  "It  is 
this  almost  clairvoyant  power  of  reading  the  human  soul  that  has 
made  Mr.  Wright's  books  among  the  most  remarkable  works  of  the 
present  age."  Similar  to  that  aroma  of  piety  and  charity  which  ac- 
companies the  quack  medicines,  an  equally  perceptible  odor  of 
sanctity  is  wafted  to  us  with  Mr.  Wright;  and  just  as  imitators 
will  make  their  boxes  and  bottles  to  resemble  those  of  an  already 
successful  trade  article,  so  are  Mr.  Wright's  volumes  given  that 
red  cloth  and  gold  lettering  which  we  have  come  to  associate  with 
the  bindings  of  Mr.  Winston  Churchill's  very  popular  and  agree- 
able novels.  Lastly  —  like  the  quack  medicines  —  the  quack 
novel  is  (mostly)  harmful;  not  always  because  it  is  poisonous 
(though  this  occurs),  but  because  it  pretends  to  be  literature  and 
is  taken  for  literature  by  the  millions  who  swallow  it  year  after 

1  Gustav  PoUak:  Fijiy  Years  oj  American  Idealism.     Houghton  IVIifflin  Company.     By 
courtesy  of  2^he  Nation. 


DEFINITION  89 

year  as  their  chief  mental  nourishment,  and  whose  brains  it  saps 
and  dilutes.  In  short,  both  these  shams  —  the  book  and  the 
medicine  —  win  and  bamboozle  their  public  through  methods  al- 
most identical.^ 

For  complete  tnith  you  need  to  present  both  resemblance 
and  difference.  This  necessity  is  apparent  as  soon  as  we 
remember  that  the  differentia  are  of  vital  importance,  that 
we  understand  the  subject  only  when  we  see  how  it  differs 
from  other  members  of  the  same  class.  When  these  differ- 
ences are  obvious,  of  course  they  need  no  mention.  But 
in  defining  wit  and  humor,  for  example,  or  immorality  and 
unconventionality,  we  must  know  not  only  the  parallelisms 
but  also  the  divergencies.  The  best  method  of  procedure 
is  to  discover  in  each  of  the  subjects  compared  the  vital 
things,  the  heart  without  which  it  could  not  exist,  and  then 
to  observe  how  these  work  out  in  the  particulars  of  the 
subject.  In  defining  State  and  Nation  in  the  followng  se- 
lection ]Mr.  Russell  takes  care  to  show  both  resemblances 
and  differences. 

Nation  is  not  to  be  defined  by  aflSnities  of  language  or  a  com- 
mon historical  origin,  though  these  things  often  help  to  produce 
a  nation.  Switzerland  is  a  nation,  in  spite  of  diversities  of  race, 
religion,  and  language,  England  and  Scotland  now  form  one 
nation,  though  they  did  not  do  so  at  the  time  of  our  Civil  War. 
This  is  shown  by  Cromwell's  saying,  in  the  height  of  the  conflict, 
that  he  would  rather  be  subject  to  the  dominion  of  the  royalists 
than  to  that  of  the  Scotch.  Great  Britain  Mas  one  state  before  it 
was  one  nation;  on  the  other  hand,  Germany  v\'as  one  nation  be- 
fore it  was  one  state.  What  constitutes  a  nation  is  a  sentiment 
and  an  instinct  —  a  sentiment  of  similarity  and  an  instinct  of  be- 
longing to  the  same  group  or  herd.  The  instinct  is  an  extension 
of  the  instinct  which  constitutes  a  flock  of  sheep,  or  any  other 
group  of  gregarious  animals.  The  sentiment  which  goes  with  this 
is  like  a  milder  and  more  extended  form  of  family  feeling.     When 

•  Owen  Wister:  Quack  Novels  and  Democracy.     By  courtesy  of  The  Atlantic  MonlLly 
Company,  Boston. 


90  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

we  return  to  England  after  having  been  on  the  Continent,  we  feel 
something  friendly  in  the  familiar  ways,  and  it  is  easy  to  believe 
that  Englishmen  on  the  whole  are  virtuous  while  many  foreigners 
are  full  of  designing  wickedness. 

Such  feelings  make  it  easy  to  organize  a  nation  into  a  state.  It 
is  not  difficult,  as  a  rule,  to  acquiesce  in  the  orders  of  a  national 
government.  We  feel  that  it  is  our  government,  and  that  its  de- 
crees are  more  or  less  the  same  as  those  which  we  should  have  given 
if  we  ourselves  had  been  the  governors.  There  is  an  instinctive, 
and  usually  unconscious,  sense  of  a  common  purpose  animating  the 
members  of  a  nation.  This  becomes  especially  vivid  when  there 
is  a  war  or  a  danger  of  war.  Any  one  who,  at  such  a  time,  stands 
out  against  the  orders  of  his  government  feels  an  inner  conflict 
quite  different  from  any  that  he  would  feel  in  standing  out  agaiust 
the  orders  of  a  foreign  government,  in  whose  power  he  might  happen 
to  find  himself.  If  he  stands  out,  he  does  so  with  a  more  or  less 
conscious  hope  that  his  government  may  in  time  come  to  think  as 
he  does;  whereas,  in  standing  out  against  a  foreign  government, 
no  such  hope  is  necessary.  This  group  instinct,  however  it  may 
have  arisen,  is  what  constitutes  a  nation,  and  what  makes  it  im- 
portant that  the  bomidaries  of  nations  should  also  be  the  bounda- 
ries of  states.^ 

c.   The  Method  of  Division 

A  third  method,  often  used,  and  similar  in  its  general  form 
to  analysis,  divides  the  subject  into  its  various  headings, 
the  sum  of  vs^hich  must  equal  the  whole.  This  method  differs 
from  analysis,  perhaps,  in  that  it  treats  the  subject  through- 
out as  a  unit  rather  than  as  a  congregation  of  parts.  This 
method  may  be  used  to  define  a  subject  like  matheinaticsy 
in  stating  that  it  is  the  pure  science  which  includes  arith- 
metic, algebra,  geometry,  etc.,  or  to  define  a  quality  like 
patriotism,  by  enumerating  the  qualities  that  patriotism 
has.  These  qualities  may  be,  also,  the  uses  to  which  the 
subject  can  be  put,  as  in  defining  a  tool  or  a  machine.  The 

'  Bertrand  Russell:  National  Independence  and  Intemationcdifm.  By  courtesy  of  The 
Atlantic  Monthly  Company,  Boston. 


DEFINITION  91 

method  consists  in  establishing  the  genus  and  then,  from  a 
mental  map  of  the  subject,  selecting  the  various  parts  that 
constitute  the  whole,  whether  these  parts  be  of  physical 
extent,  as  in  defining  the  United  States  by  giving  the  various 
sections  of  the  country,  or  of  spiritual  significance,  as  in  de- 
fining an  honest  man  by  stating  the  qualities  that  he  should 
possess. 

One  danger  from  this  method  is  lack  of  completeness; 
great  practical  value  attaches  here  to  the  caution  to  be  sure 
that  the  definition  includes  all  that  properly  belongs  under 
it.  Another  danger  is  in  the  temptation  to  "  talk  about "  the 
subject  without  actually  defining  it,  merely  saying  some 
pleasant  things  and  then  ceasing.  The  caution  against  this 
danger  in  general  must  be  remembered.  Properly  used,  this 
method,  though  it  is  sometimes  rather  formal,  should  result 
in  great  clearness  through  completeness  of  definition.  The 
following  celebrated  definition  of  a  "classic"  is  a  good  ex- 
ample of  compact  definition  by  this  method,  and  the  defi- 
nition of  "  moral  atmosphere  "  of  a  more  leisurely,  informal 
breaking-up. 

A  classic  is  an  author  who  has  enriched  the  human  mind,  who 
has  really  added  to  its  treasure,  who  has  got  it  to  take  a  step 
further;  who  has  discovered  some  unequivocal  moral  truth,  or  pene- 
trated to  some  eternal  passion,  in  that  heart  of  man  where  it  seemed 
as  though  all  were  known  and  explored,  who  has  produced  his 
thought,  or  his  observation,  or  his  invention,  under  some  form,  no 
matter  what,  so  it  be  large,  great,  acute,  and  reasonable,  sane  and 
beautiful  in  itself;  who  has  spoken  to  all  m  a  style  of  his  own,  yet 
a  style  which  finds  itself  the  style  of  everybody,  —  in  a  style  that 
is  at  once  new  and  antique,  and  is  the  contemporary  of  all  ages.^ 

The  moral  atmosphere  of  the  office  was  ideal.  I  mean  more  in  the 
extended  and  not  alone  in  our  specific  English  sense,  though  in  the 
latter  it  was  even  perhaps  more  marked.  There  was  not  only  no 
temporizing,  compromising,  compounding  with  candor,  in  either 

*  Sainte-Beuve. 


92  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

major  matters  or  trifling;  there  was  no  partiality  or  ingenuity  or 
bland  indifference  by  which  the  devil  may  be,  and  so  often  is, 
whipped  round  the  stump.  There  was  m  the  Nation's  field  and  con- 
ception of  its  function  no  temptation  to  anything  of  this  sort,  to  be 
sure,  which  consideration  may  conceivably  qualify  its  assessment 
of  merit  on  the  Day  of  Judgment  —  a  day  when  we  may  hope  the 
sins  of  daily  journalism  will,  in  consequence  of  the  same  considera- 
tion, be  extended  some  leniency  —  but  certainly  cannot  obscure 
the  fact  of  its  conspicuous  integrity.  There  were  people  then  — 
as  now  —  that  complained  of  its  fairness;  which  involved,  to  my 
mind,  the  most  nai've  attitude  imaginable,  since  it  was  the  Nation's 
practice  that  had  provided  the  objector  with  his  criterion  of  fair- 
ness in  journalism.  Of  course  he  might  assert  that  this  was  only  a 
way  of  saying  that  the  paper  made  extraordinary  claims  which  in 
his  estimation  it  failed  to  justify;  but  this  was  verbiage,  the  fact 
being  as  I  have  stated  it. 

But  I  also  mean  by  moral  atmosphere  the  peace,  the  serenity, 
the  gentleness,  the  self-respect,  the  feeling  of  character,  that  per- 
vaded the  office.  We  seemed,  to  my  sense,  so  recently  filled  with 
the  reactions  of  Park  Row  phenomena,  "to  lie  at  anchor  in  the 
stream  of  Time,"  as  Carlyle  said  of  Oxford  —  which,  actually,  we 
were  very  far  from  doing;  there  was  never  any  doubt  of  the  Nation's 
being  what  is  now  called  a  "live  wire,"  especially  among  those  who 
took  hold  of  it  unwarily  —  as  now  and  then  some  one  did.  Mr. 
Garrison  shared  the  first  editorial  room  with  me.  Mr.  Godkin  had 
the  back  oflBce.  The  publication  oflSces  were  in  front,  occupied  by 
the  amiable  Mr.  St.  Jolm  and  his  staff,  which  included  a  gentle  and 
aristocratic  colored  bookkeeper  who  resembled  an  East  Indian  phi- 
losopher —  plainly  a  Garrisonian  protege.  The  silence  I  especially 
remember  as  delightful,  and  I  never  felt  from  the  first  the  slightest 
constraint;  Mr.  Garrison  had  the  courtesy  that  goes  with  active 
considerateness.  The  quiet  was  broken  only  by  the  occasional 
interchange  of  conversation  between  us,  or  by  the  hearty  laugh 
of  Mr.  Godkin,  whose  laugh  would  have  been  the  most  note- 
worthy thing  about  him  if  he  had  not  had  so  many  other  note- 
worthy characteristics;  or  by  a  visit  now  and  then  from  Arthur 
Sedgwick,  in  my  time  not  regularly  "on"  the  paper,  who  always 
brought  the  larger  world  in  with  him  (the  office  was  perhaps  a  little 


DEFINITION  93 

cloistral  as  a  rule),  or  the  appearance  of  Earl  Shinn  with  his  art 
or  dramatic  criticism  —  both  the  best  written,  if  not  also  the  best 
we  have  ever  had  in  this  country,  and  the  latter  so  distinguished, 
I  think,  as  to  be  unique. 

Of  course,  there  were  visitors,  contributors  and  candid  friends, 
but  mamly  we  worked  in  almost  Quakerish  tranquillity  five  days 
in  the  week  during  my  incumbency.^ 

d.   The  Method  of  Repetition 

A  fourth  method,  which  may  be  used  in  connection  with 
any  other,  consists  in  repeating  the  definition  over  and  over 
in  different  words,  from  different  points  of  view,dri\'ing  home 
by  accumulated  emphasis.  The  value  of  this  method  lies 
in  its  feeling  of  absolute  sureness  in  the  reader's  mind :  once 
completed,  the  definition  seems  quite  settled,  quite  tamped 
down,  quite  clinched.  It  is  a  difficult  method  to  employ, 
for  the  writer  is  in  great  danger  of  saying  exactly  the 
same  thing  again  and  again,  forgetting  to  assume  different 
points  of  view.  From  such  a  definition  tediousness  is  of 
course  the  result.  The  subjects  treated  by  this  method  are 
likely  to  be  abstract  matters  upon  which  light  is  shed  from 
various  angles,  as  if  one  poured  spot  lights  from  all  sides 
upon  some  object  which  remains  the  same  but  which  delivers 
up  all  its  phases.  Emerson  often  used  this  method,  as  in 
the  following  example  where  both  the  method  of  repetition 
and  that  of  comparison  are  used: 

The  two  parties  which  divide  the  state,  the  party  of  Conserva- 
tism and  that  of  Innovation,  are  very  old,  and  have  disputed  the 
possession  of  the  world  ever  since  it  was  made.  ...  It  is  the  coun- 
teraction of  the  centripetal  and  the  centrifugal  forces.  Innovation 
is  the  salient  energy;  Conservatism  the  pause  on  the  last  move- 
ment. "That  which  is  was  made  by  God,"  says  Conservatism. 
"He  is  leaving  that,  he  is  entering  this  other,"  enjoins  Innovation. 

There  is  always  a  certain  meanness  in  the  argument  of  conserva- 

>  Gustav  Pollak:  Fifty  Years  of  American  Idealism.  Houghton  MifSin  Company.  By 
courtesy  of  The  Nation. 


94  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

tism,  joined  with  a  certain  superiority  in  its  fact.  It  affirms  be- 
cause it  holds.  Its  fingers  clutch  the  fact,  and  it  will  not  open  its 
eyes  to  see  a  better  fact.  The  castle  which  conservatism  is  set  to 
defend  is  the  actual  state  of  things,  good  and  bad.  The  project 
of  innovation  is  the  best  possible  state  of  things.  Of  course  con- 
servatism always  has  the  worst  of  the  argument,  is  always  apolo- 
gizing, pleading  a  necessity,  pleading  that  to  change  would  be  to 
deteriorate :  it  must  saddle  itself  with  the  moimtainous  load  of  the 
violence  and  vice  of  society,  must  deny  the  possibility  of  good, 
deny  ideas,  and  suspect  and  stone  the  prophet;  whilst  innovation  is 
always  in  the  right,  triumphant,  attacking,  and  sure  of  final  success. 
Conservatism  stands  on  man's  confessed  limitations,  reform  on  his 
indisputable  infinitude;  conservatism  on  circumstance,  liberalism 
on  power;  one  goes  to  make  an  adroit  member  of  the  social  frame, 
the  other  to  postpone  all  things  to  the  man  himself;  conservatism 
is  debonair  and  social,  reform  is  individual  and  imperious.  We 
are  reformers  in  the  spring  and  summer,  in  autumn  and  winter  we 
stand  by  the  old;  reformers  m  the  morning,  conservers  at  night. 
Reform  is  affirmative,  conservatism  negative;  conservatism  goes 
for  comfort,  reform  for  truth.  Conservatism  is  more  candid  to 
behold  another's  worth;  reform  more  disposed  to  maintain  and 
increase  its  own.  Conservatism  makes  no  poetry,  breathes  no 
prayer,  has  no  invention;  it  is  all  memory.  Reform  has  no  grati- 
tude, no  prudence,  no  husbandry.  It  makes  a  great  difference  to 
your  figure  and  your  thought  whether  your  foot  is  advancing  or 
receding.  Conservatism  never  puts  the  foot  forward;  in  the  hour 
when  it  does  that,  it  is  not  establishment,  but  reform.  Conserva- 
tism tends  to  universal  seeming  and  treachery,  believes  in  a  nega- 
tive fate;  believes  that  men's  temper  governs  them;  that  for  me  it 
avails  not  to  trust  in  principles,  they  will  faU  me,  I  must  bend  a 
little;  it  distrusts  nature;  it  thinks  there  is  a  general  law  without 
a  particular  application,  —  law  for  all  that  does  not  include  any 
one.  Reform  in  its  antagonism  inclines  to  asinine  resistance, 
to  kick  with  hoofs;  it  runs  to  egotism  and  bloated  self-conceit;  it 
runs  to  a  bodiless  pretension,  to  unnatural  refining  and  elevation 
which  ends  in  hypocrisy  and  sensual  reaction. 

And  so,  while  we  do  not  go  beyond  general  statements,  it  may 
be  safely  affirmed  of  these  two  metaphysical  antagonists,  that  each 


DEFINITION  95 

is  a  good  half  but  an  impossible  whole.    Each  exposes  the  abuses  of 
the  other,  but  in  a  true  society,  in  a  true  man,  both  must  combine.^ 

e.  The  Method  of  Elimination 

Two  methods,  which  are  perhaps  less  frequently  found, 
but  which  are  none  the  less  useful,  remain  to  be  mentioned. 
The  first  is  the  method  of  elimination,  that  is,  the  method 
of  defining  a  thing  by  telling  what  it  is  not,  by  eliminating 
all  things  with  which  it  might  become  confused.  This  method 
is  of  great  value  in  defining  an  idea  which  is  often  considered 
to  mean  what  it  actually  does  not.  By  shutting  out  the 
erroneous  interpretations,  one  by  one,  the  errors  are  finally 
disposed  of.  This  method  is  most  effective  when  not  only 
are  the  wrong  interpretations  excluded,  but  the  correct  idea, 
interpretation,  is  positively  stated  at  some  point.  If  this 
is  not  done  there  lingers  in  the  reader's  mind  a  taint  of  sus- 
picion that  either  the  author  did  not  know  exactly  the  cor- 
rect meaning,  or  that  the  subject  is  really  too  difficult  to 
bear  real  definition.  And  with  a  reader  who  does  not  think 
clearly  in  original  ways  a  positive  statement  is  almost  essen- 
tial lest  he  be  unable  to  tell  what  the  subject  really  is,  after 
all,  being  unable  to  supply  the  residue  after  the  process  of 
elimination  has  been  completed.  Following  this  method 
Mr.  Cross  defines  Socialism  by  showing  that  it  is  not  an- 
archy, is  not  single  tax,  is  not  communism,  and  is  not  other 
systems  with  which  it  is  often  confused.  The  result  is  to 
leave  socialism  standing  out  by  itself  with  clearness.  In  the 
following  definition  of  college  spirit  the  author  has  followed 
the  method  of  elimination  to  clear  away  the  haze  that  in 
many  minds  surrounds  the  subject: 

College  spirit  is  like  ancestry :  we  are  all  supposed  to  hjive  it,  but 
few  of  us  know  intimately  what  it  is.  The  freshman  in  whose  Jieart 
beats  desire  to  show  loyalty,  the  graduate  whose  pulse  stirs  as  the 

•  Rfilph  WalJo  Emerson:  "The  Conservative,"  in  Nalure,  Addresses,  and  Lectures. 
Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Boston. 


96  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

train  nears  the  "little  old  college,"  the  alumnus  who  unties  his 
purse-strings  at  the  clarion  call  of  a  deficit  —  do  these  show  loyalty 
by  mere  desire  or  by  deeds?  And  if  by  deeds,  by  what  kind  of  ac- 
tion shall  their  loyalty  be  determined? 

In  the  first  place,  college  spirit  is  not  mere  voice  culture.  The 
man  who  yells  until  his  face  is  purple  and  his  throat  is  a  candidate 
for  the  rest  cure  is  not  necessarily  displaying  college  spirit  — 
though  he  may  possess  it.  Yelling  is  not  excluded;  it  is  merely 
denied  the  first  place.  For,  to  parody  Shakespeare,  a  man  can 
yell  and  yell  and  still  be  a  college  slacker.  Cheering,  indiscrimi- 
nate noise  making,  even  singing  the  college  song  with  gusto  at  ath- 
letic games  —  none  of  these  will  stamp  a  man  as  necessarily  lojal. 
Nor  will  participation  in  athletic  sports  or  in  "college  activities" 
of  other  natures  be  sufficient  to  declare  a  man,  for  the  participa- 
tion may  be  of  a  purely  selfish  nature.  The  man  who  makes  a 
record  in  the  sprints  chiefly  for  his  own  glory,  or  the  man  who 
edits  the  college  paper  because  by  so  doing  he  can  "make  a  good 
thing  out  of  it"  for  himself,  is  not  possessed  of  true  college  spirit, 
for  college  spirit  demands  more  than  mere  selfishness.  In  the 
same  way,  taking  part  m  celebrations,  marching  down  Main  Street 
with  a  flag  fluttering  roimd  his  ears,  a  sunflower  in  his  buttonhole, 
an  inane  grm  on  his  face,  a  swagger  in  his  gait,  and  a  determination 
to  tell  the  whole  world  that  his  "dear  old  Alma  Mater"  is  "the  fin- 
est little  college  in  the  world"  —  this,  too,  is  without  avail,  though 
it  is  not  necessarily  opposed  to  college  spirit.  For  this  exhibition, 
also,  is  largely  selfish.  Likewise,  becoming  a  "grind,"  removing 
one's  self  from  the  human  fellowship  that  college  ought  to  furnish 
in  its  most  delightful  form,  and  becoming  determhied  to  prepare 
for  a  successful  business  career  without  regard  to  the  warm  flow  of 
human  emotion  through  the  heart  —  this  is  not  college  spirit.  All 
these  harmless  things  are  excluded  because  they  are  primarily 
selfish,  and  college  spirit  is  primarily  opposed  to  selfishness. 

True  college  spirit  is  found  in  the  man  whose  heart  has  warmed 
to  the  love  of  his  college,  whose  eyes  have  caught  the  vision  of  the 
ideals  that  the  college  possesses,  whose  brain  has  thought  over 
and  understood  these  ideals  until  they  have  become  very  fibre  of 
his  being.  This  man  will  yell  not  for  the  selfish  pleasure  of  wallow- 
ing in  sentimentality,  but  for  the  solid  glory  of  his  college;  will  rug 


DEFINITION  97 

and  leap,  will  edit  the  paper  with  the  desire  to  make  and  keep  the 
college  in  the  front  rank  of  athletic,  social,  and  intellectual  life;  will 
study  hard  that  the  college  may  not  be  disgraced  through  him; 
will  conduct  himself  like  a  gentleman  that  no  one  may  sneer  at  the 
institution  which  has  sponsored  him;  will  resent  any  slurs  upon 
the  fair  name  of  the  college;  will  be  willing  to  sacrifice  himself,  his 
own  personal  glory,  for  the  sake  of  the  college;  will  be  willing  to 
give  of  his  money  and  his  time  until,  perhaps,  it  hurts.  And 
above  all,  he  will  never  forget  the  gleam  of  idealism  that  he  received 
in  the  old  halls,  the  vision  of  his  chance  to  serve  his  fellows.  The 
man  who  does  these  things,  who  thinks  these  things,  has  true 
college  spirit, 

/.   The  Method  of  Showing  Origin,  Cause,  Effect 

The  other  of  these  two  methods  is  that  of  defining  by- 
showing  the  origin  or  causes  of  the  subject  or  by  showing  its 
effects.  If  we  can  be  made  to  see  what  forces  went  to  the 
making  of  anything,  or  what  has  resulted  from  it,  we  shall 
have  a  fairly  clear  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  thing.  Thus 
we  may  perhaps  best  understand  the  nature  of  cabinet 
government  by  showing  how  the  system  came  into  being, 
what  need  it  filled,  what  forces  produced  it.  The  same 
method  might  make  clear  primitive  Greek  drama,  the  Han- 
seatic  League,  fertilization  of  land,  the  Federal  Reserve  System 
of  Banking,  the  modern  orchestra.  And  by  showing  the  effects 
we  might  define  such  matters  as  the  Montessori  method  of 
education,  the  Feudal  System,  anarchy,  militarism.  The 
writer  of  a  definition  after  this  method  needs  to  take  care 
that  when  he  has  shown  the  various  causes  or  effects,  he 
surely  binds  them  somehow  together  and  vitally  to  the  sub- 
ject of  definition.  There  must  be  no  dim  feeling  in  the  mind 
of  the  reader  that,  after  all,  the  subject  is  not  yet  clearly 
limned,  not  yet  set  off  from  other  things.  The  definition 
which  follows  makes  clear  the  origin  of  the  mechanical 
engineer,  and  by  showing  what  he  does,  what  need  there 
was  for  him,  what  lack  he  fills,  makes  clear  what  he  is. 


98  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  period  of  systematic  and  scientific  power  development  is 
coincident  with  the  true  progress  of  the  most  basal  of  the  several 
branches  of  natural  philosoph3%  chemistry,  physics,  mechanics, 
thermodynamics,  and  the  theory  of  elasticity  of  materials  of  con- 
struction; and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  steam  engine,  which  was 
designed  and  built  by  workmen  before  these  were  formulated, 
attracted  the  attention  of  philosophers  who,  in  attempting  to 
explam  what  took  place  in  it,  created  a  related  body  of  principles 
by  which  future  development  was  guided,  and  which  are  now  the 
fundamental  bases  for  the  design  of  the  future.  Those  men  who 
became  familiar  with  the  natural  sciences,  and  also  with  the  shop 
methods  of  makuig  machinery,  and  who  brought  both  to  bear  on 
the  problem  of  the  production  of  machinery  for  specified  conditions, 
combinmg  the  special  knowledge  of  the  scientist  and  the  shop 
mechanic,  were  the  first  mechanical  engineers;  and  the  profession 
of  mechanical  engineermg,  which  is  the  term  applied  to  this  sort 
of  business,  was  created  out  of  the  efiForts  to  improve  power 
systems,  so  as  to  make  them  more  efficient  and  adapted  to  all 
classes  of  service,  and  to  render  that  service  for  the  least  cost.^ 

Emerson  makes  a  definition  of  the  civilization  of  America 
in  the  following  selection  wherein  he  describes  the  effect  of 
American  society  and  life  upon  the  individual. 

The  true  test  of  civilization  is,  not  the  crops,  not  the  size  of 
cities,  not  the  census,  —  no,  but  the  kind  of  man  the  country  turns 
out.  I  see  the  vast  advantages  of  this  country,  spanning  the 
breadth  of  the  temperate  zone.  I  see  the  immense  material  pros- 
perity, —  towns  on  towns,  states  on  states,  and  wealth  piled  in  the 
massive  architectureof  cities:  California  quartz,  mountains  dumped 
down  in  New  York  to  be  repUed  architecturally  alongshore  from 
Canada  to  Cuba,  and  thence  westward  to  California  again.  But 
it  is  not  New  York  streets,  built  by  the  confluence  of  workmen  and 
wealth  of  all  nations,  though  stretching  out  toward  Philadelphia 
until  they  touch  it,  and  northward  until  they  touch  New  Haven, 
Hartford,  Springfield,  Worcester,  and  Boston,  —  not  these  that 
make  the  real  estimation.     But  when  I  look  over  this  constellation 

I  C.  E.  Lucke:  Power.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  the  Columbia  University  Press. 


DEFINITION  99 

of  cities  which  animate  and  illustrate  the  land,  and  see  how  little 
the  government  has  to  do  with  their  daily  life,  how  self-helped  and 
self-directed  all  families  are,  —  knots  of  men  in  purely  natural 
societies,  societies  of  trade,  of  kindred  blood,  of  habitual  hospital- 
ity, house  and  house,  man  acting  on  man  by  weight  of  opinion,  of 
longer  or  better-directed  industry ;  the  refining  influence  of  women, 
the  invitation  which  experience  and  permanent  causes  open  to 
youth  and  labor:  when  I  see  how  much  each  virtuous  and  gifted 
person  whom  all  men  consider,  lives  affectionately  with  scores  of 
people  who  are  not  known  far  from  home,  and  perhaps  with  greatest 
reason  reckons  these  people  his  superiors  in  virtue  and  in  the  sym- 
metry and  force  of  their  qualities,  —  I  see  what  cubic  values 
America  has,  and  in  these  a  better  certificate  of  civilization  than 
great  cities  or  enormous  wealth.^ 

These,  then,  are  the  various  methods  that  are  in  common 
use.  The  list  might  be  extended,  but  perhaps  enough  varie- 
ties have  been  discussed  to  be  of  practical  value.  The 
choice  of  method  will  depend  on  the  result  that  the  writer 
wishes  to  accomplish;  at  times  he  will  wish  to  please  the 
reader's  fancy  with  an  illustration,  and  again  he  may  wish 
to  contrast  the  subject  to  something  else.  If  at  any  time 
more  methods  than  one  are  useful,  there  is  not  the  slightest 
objection  to  combining;  in  fact,  most  definitions  of  any 
length  will  be  found  to  have  more  than  one  method  em- 
ployed. Remember  that  the  methods  were  made  for  you, 
not  you  for  the  methods.  And  so  long  as  you  make  your 
subject  clear,  so  long  as  you  set  it  off  by  itself  in  a  class,  dis- 
tinct from  other  members  of  the  class,  you  can  be  sure  of 
the  value  of  your  definition. 

EXERCISES 

I.  Discover  the  restricting  adjectives  or  phrases  that  will  reduce  the 
number  of  (differentia  required  by  the  genus  in  the  following  definitions: 

1.  Vaudeville  is  an  entertainment. 

2.  Pneumonia  is  a  disease. 

>  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson:  "Civilization,"  in  Society  and  Solitude.    Houghton  MifBin  Com- 
pany, Boston. 


100  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

3.  The  Browning  gun  is  a  machine. 

4.  Landscape  gardening  is  an  occupation. 

5.  Smelting  is  an  operation. 

6.  Lyrics  are  writing. 

7.  A  college  diploma  is  a  statement  by  a  body  of  men. 

8.  Rotation  of  crops  is  a  system. 

9.  The  Republican  party  is  an  organization, 

10.  Anglo-Saxon  is  a  language. 

11.  An  axe  is  a  tool. 

12.  A  printing  press  is  a  steel  structure. 

13.  A  hair-net  is  weaving. 

14.  Literature  is  writing. 

15.  Militarism  is  an  attitude  of  mind. 

II.  Write  a  definition  of  any  of  the  following,  showing  how  the  subject 
has  shifted  its  genus  by  its  development,  as  the  clearing  house  (page  75) 
has. 

1.  The  Temperance  Movement  (sentimental  crusade;  sensible  cam- 
paign for  efBciency). 

2.  War. 

3.  Incantation  (means  of  salvation;  curiosity). 

4.  Household  Science  (drudgery;  occupation). 

5.  Aristocracy  (through  physical  strength;  through  birth;  through 
property). 

6.  Justice  (b.c;  a.d.). 

7.  Chemistry  (magic;  utility). 

8.  The  Presidency  of  the  United  States  (as  changed  by  Mr.  Wilson's 
procedure  with  Congress) . 

9.  The  Theater  (under  Puritan  and  Cavalier). 
10.  Electricity  (curiosity;  fearsome  thing;  utility). 

Of  course  any  one  of  these  ten  subjects  can  be  defined  with  a 
changeless  genus,  but  such  a  genus  is  likely  to  be  in  the  realm  of  the 
abstract,  pretty  thoroughly  divorced  from  practical  life. 
III.  From  the  following  definitions  taken  from  Webster's  New  In- 
ternational Dictionary  construct  definitions  of  a  more  amplified, 
pleasing  nature,  after  the  manner  of  the  definition  of  war  corre- 
spondents. 

1.  Laziness  is  the  state  of  being  disinclined  to  action  or  exertion; 
averse  to  labor;  indolent;  idle;  slothful. 

2.  Efficiency  is  the  quality  of  being  efficient,  of  producing  an  effect 
or  effects;  efficient  power  or  action. 

3.  A  department  store  is  a  store  keeping  a  great  variety  of  goods 
which  are  arranged  in  several  departments,  especially  one  with 
dry  goods  as  the  principal  stock. 

4.  Metabolism  is  the  sum  of  the  processes  concerned  in  the  building 
up  of  protoplasm  and  its  destruction  incidental  to  the  manifesta- 
tion of  vital  phenomena;  the  chemical  changes  proceeding  con- 


DEFINITION  101 

tinually  in  living  cells,  by  which  the  energy  is  provided  for  the 
vital  processes  and  activities  and  new  material  is  assimilated 
to  repair  the  waste. 
6.  Judgment  is  the  faculty  of  judging  or  deciding  rightly,  justly, 
or  wisely;  good  sense;  as,  a  man  of  judgment;  a  politician  with- 
out judgment. 

6.  Puddling  is  the  art  or  process  of  converting  cast  iron  into  Avrought 
iron,  or,  now  rarely,  steel  by  subjecting  it  to  intense  heat  and 
frequent  stirring  in  a  reverberatory  furnace  in  the  presence  of 
oxidizing  substances,  by  which  it  is  freed  from  a  portion  of  its 
carbon  and  other  impurities. 

7.  Overhead  cost  is  the  general  expenses  of  a  business,  as  distinct 
from  those  caused  by  particular  pieces  of  trafBc. 

8.  k  joke  is  something  said  or  done  for  the  sake  of  exciting  a  laugh; 
something  witty  or  sportive  (commonly  indicating  more  of 
hilarity  or  humor  than  jest). 

9.  A  diplomat  is  one  employed  or  skilled  in  the  art  and  practice  of 
conducting  negotiations  between  nations,  as  in  arranging  treaties; 
performing  the  business  or  art  of  conducting  international 
discourse. 

10.  A  visionary  is  one  who  relies,  or  tends  to  rely,  on  visions,  or  im- 
practical ideas,  projects,  or  the  like;  an  impractical  person. 

11.  An  entrepreneur  is  an  employer  in  his  character  of  one  who  as- 
sumes the  risk  and  management  of  business. 

12.  Loyalty  is  fidelity  to  a  superior,  or  to  duty,  love,  etc. 

13.  A  prig  is  one  narrowly  and  self-consciously  engrossed  in  his  own 
mental  or  spiritual  attainments;  one  guilty  of  moral  or  intellec- 
tual foppery;  a  conceited  precisian. 

14.  Heresy  is  an  opinion  held  in  opposition  to  the  established  or  com- 
monly received  doctrine,  and  tending  to  promote  division  or 
dissension. 

15.  Eugenics  is  the  science  of  improving  stock,  whether  human  or 
animal,  or  of  improving  plants. 

IV.  Compare  the  definitions  of  the  following  which  you  find  in  the  Century 
Dictionary,  the  Standard  Dictionary,  the  Webster's  New  Interna- 
tional Dictionary  and  the  New  English  Dictionary;  find  the  common 
elements,  and  make  a  definition  of  your  own. 

1.  Literature.  6.  Inertia.  11.  Finance. 

2.  Living  wage.  7.  Fodder.  12.  Capital. 

3.  Capillary  attraction.       8.  Religion.  13.  Soil  physics. 

4.  Sympathy.  9.  Introspection.     14.  Progress. 

5.  Classicism.  10.  Individuality.     15.  Narrow-mindedness. 
V.  Look  up  the  definitions  of  the  following  terms  and  estimate  the  result- 
ing amount  of  increase  in  your  knowledge  of  the  subject  which  includes 
the  terms.     Do  you  find  any  stimulus  toward  thinking  about  the  sub- 
ject?   What  would  you  say,  as  the  result  of  this  investigation,  about 


102  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

the  value  of  definitions?    What  does  Coleridge  mean  by  his  statement 
"Language  thinks  for  us"? 

1.  Religion:      awe,  reverence,  duty,  mystery,  peace,  priest,  wor- 

ship, loyalty,  prayer,  supplication,  trust,  divinity, 
god,  service,  church,  temple,  heaven,  fate. 

2.  Socialism:    property,   social  classes,   economic  rights,   capital, 

labor,  wages,  the  masses,  aristocracy,  envy,  self- 
respect,  economic  distribution,  labor  union,  boycott, 
strike,  lock-out,  materialism,  profit-sharing. 

3.  Ability:        genius,  wit,  talent,  insight,  judgment,  perseverance, 

logic,  imagination,  originality,  intellectuality,  vitality. 

4.  Music:         sound,  rhythm,  melody,  harmony,  orchestra,  inter- 

val (musical),  key,  beat,  tonic,  modulation,  musical 
register,  polyphony,  monophony,  sonata,  oratorio, 
musical  scale,  diatonic,  chromatic,  tempo. 

5.  Democracy:  independence,    suffrage,     representation,    equality, 

popular,  cooperation. 

VI.  Are  the  two  statements  which  follow  definitions?  If  not,  why  not? 
What  would  be  the  effect  of  the  use  of  definitions  of  this  type  in  argu- 
ment? Write  a  defining  theme  with  such  a  definition  as  its  nucleus, 
and  test  its  value. 

1.  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being. 

2.  Virtue  is  its  own  reward. 

VII.  In  the  following  definitions  ^  what  are  the  genera?  Are  the  defini- 
tions fair?  How  would  you  criticize  them  in  general?  Write  a 
theme  using  the  differentia  noted,  and  trying  to  catch  in  the  theme 
the  spirit  that  is  shown  in  the  lists. 

Highbrow:  Browning,  anthropology,  economics.  Bacon,  the  up- 
lift, inherent  sin,  Gibbon,  fourth  dimension,  Euripides,  "eyether," 
pate  de  fois  gras,  lemon  phosphate,  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  Woodrow 
Wilson. 

Low-highbrow:  Municipal  government,  Kipling,  socialism, 
Shakespeare,  politics,  Thackeray,  taxation,  golf,  grand  opera, 
bridge,  chicken  a  la  Maryland,  "eether,"  stocks  and  bonds,  gin 
rickey,  Theodore  Roosevelt,  chewing  gum  in  private. 

High-lowbrow:  Musical  comedy,  euchre,  baseball,  moving  pic- 
tures, small  steak  medium,  whiskey,  Robert  W.  Chambers,  purple 
socks,  chewing  gum  with  friends. 

Lowbrow:  Laura  Jean  Lilibcy,  ham  sandwich,  haven't  came, 

pitch,  I  and  her,  melodrama,  hair  oil,  the  Duchess,  beer,  George  M. 

Cohan,  red  flannels,  toothpicks,  Bathhouse  John,  chewing  gum  in 

public. 

VTII.  Expand  the  following  definition  ^  into  a  theme,  using  the  combined 

1  From  B.  L.  T.'s  "The  Line  o'  Type  C'nhiran."     I?y  courtesy  of  the  Chiraijo  Tribune. 
'  George  Bernard  Shaw:  The  Sanity  oj  Art.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Boni  &  Live- 
right. 


DEFINITION  103 

methods  of  illustration  and  comparison.    What  is  the  value  of  having 
the  heart  of  the  definition  stated  before  the  theme  is  begun? 

The  worthy  artist  or  craftsman  is  he  who  serves  the  physical  and 
moral  senses  by  feeding  them  with  pictures,  musical  compositions, 
pleasant  houses  and  gardens,  good  clothes  and  fine  implements, 
poems,  fictions,  essays,  and  dramas  which  call  the  heightened 
senses  and  ennobled  faculties  into  pleasurable  activity.  The 
great  artist  is  he  who  goes  a  step  beyond  the  demand,  and,  by 
supplying  works  of  a  higher  beauty  and  a  higher  interest  than 
have  yet  been  perceived,  succeeds,  after  a  brief  struggle  with  its 
strangeness,  in  adding  this  fresh  extension  of  sense  to  the  heritage 
of  the  race. 

IX.  See  "Poverty"  (page  84). 

1.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  Gissing  uses  so  slight  an  illustration  to 
fix  his  ideal,  what  makes  the  definition  valuable?  Compare 
the  value  of  this  definition  with  another  of  the  same  subject 
such  as  you  might  find  in  a  text  on  Sociology  or  Economics. 

2.  Define  by  illustration  any  of  the  following:  Homesickness, 
Jealousy,  Despair,  Discouragement,  Vulgarity,  Opulence, 
Misery,  Cheapness,  Tenacity,  Anger,  Adaptability,  Man  of 
action,  Man  of  executive  ability.  Statesman,  Ward  boss,  Man 
of  learning.  Luck,  Courage,  Business  success,  "Bonehead 
Play,"  Political  shrewdness.  The  "College  Widow,"  Perfect 
technique.  Up-to-date  factory.  Social  tact,  A  Snob,  "  Some 
Kid,"  Other-worldliness,  A  Gentleman,  A  Lady,  A  "real  meal," 
A  fighting  chance.  Good  breeding,  A  "Social  climber,"  Com- 
munity music.  Poetic  justice,  A  wage-slave,  A  political  ring. 
Good  team-work.  Elasticity  of  mind.  Bigotry. 

How  far  is  definition  by  illustration  concerned  with  morality? 
Could  you,  for  example,  so  illustrate  courage  as  to  seem  to  ex- 
clude a  really  courageous  person?  What  necessity  in  employ- 
ing this  method  does  your  answer  to  the  preceding  question 
indicate? 

Define  any  of  the  following:  The  ideal  leader  of  the  "gang," 
The  ideal  ward  boss.  The  ideal  town  librarian.  The  ideal  teacher, 
The  ideal  military  general,  captain,  corporal,  The  ideal  head- 
waiter.  The  ideal  foreman  in  a  factory.  The  ideal  soda-clerk. 
The  ideal  athletic  coach.  The  ideal  intellectual  leader.  The  ideal 
orchestra  conductor.  The  ideal  mayor.  The  ideal  "boss"  in  a 
steel  mill,  on  a  farm,  of  an  engineering  gang,  of  cotton  pickers, 
of  lumberjacks. 

Is  the  definition  of  a  Responsible  Statesman  any  the  less  sound 
because  the  differentia  are  duties  rather  than  facts  ?    Write 


104  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

a  theme  explaining  why  an  executive  too  far  "  ahead   of  his 
times  "  fails  of  immediate  results. 
3.  In  the  manner  of  the  definition  of  Amortization,  write  a  defini- 
tion of  the  following:  Collective  buying.  Sabotage,  Montessori 
method  of  education,  Dry  cleaning.  Dry  farming. 
X.  What  is  the  chief  value  of  the  following  selection  as  a  real  definition? 
Which  is  of  greater  value,  this  selection  or  the  kind  of  definition  that 
would  be  found  in  a  text  on  geography? 

Define,  in  a  manner  similar  to  that  of  the  selection:  New  England, 
The  Middle  West,  The  "Old  Dominion,"  "The  Cradle  of  Liberty," 
"Gotham,"  The  "Gold  Coast,"  "Dixie,"  "The  Old  South,"  "The 
Auld  Sod,"  "The  Corn  Belt,"  "The  Wheat  Belt."  The  Anthracite 
Region,  The  Land  of  Big  Game,  "The  Land  of  Heart's  Desire," 
"The  Cockpit  of  Europe,"  "The  Vacation  Land." 

Between  the  Seine  and  the  Rhine  lay  once  a  beautiful  land 
wherein  more  history  was  made,  and  recorded  in  old  monuments 
full  of  grace  and  grandeur  and  fancy,  than  in  almost  any  other 
region  of  the  world.  The  old  names  were  best,  for  each  aroused 
memory  and  begot  strange  dreams:  Flanders,  Brabant,  the  Palati- 
nate; Picardy,  Valois,  Champagne,  Franche-Comte;  Artois,  Bur- 
gundy, and  Bar.  And  the  town  names  ring  with  the  same  sono- 
rous melody,  evoking  the  ghosts  of  a  great  and  indelible  past: 
Bruges,  Ghent,  Lou  vain,  and  Liege;  Aix-la-Chapelle,  Coblenz, 
and  Treves;  Ypres  and  Lille,  Tournai  and  Fontenoy,  Arras  and 
Malplaquet;  Laon,  Nancy,  Verdun,  and  Varennes;  Amiens,  Sois- 
sons,  and  Reims.  Csesar,  Charlemagne,  St.  Louis,  Napoleon,  with 
proconsuls,  paladins,  crusaders,  and  marshals  unnumbered;  kings, 
prince-bishops,  monks,  knights,  and  aureoled  saints  take  form  and 
shape  again  at  the  clang  of  the  splendid  names. 

It  is  not  a  large  land,  this  Heart  of  Europe;  three  hundred  and 
fifty  miles,  perhaps,  from  the  Alps  to  the  sea,  and  not  more  than 
two  hundred  and  fifty  from  the  Seine  at  Paris  to  the  Rhine  at 
Cologne;  half  the  size,  shall  we  say,  of  Texas;  but  what  Europe 
was  for  the  thousand  years  following  the  fall  of  Rome,  this  little 
country  —  or  the  men  that  made  it  great  —  was  responsible.  Add 
the  rest  of  Normandy,  and  the  spiritual  energy  of  the  Holy  See, 
and  with  a  varying  and  sometimes  negligible  influence  from  the 
Teutonic  lands  beyond  the  Rhine,  and  you  have  the  mainsprings  of 
mediaeval  ism,  even  though  for  its  full  manifestation  you  must  take 
into  account  the  men  in  the  far  countries  of  the  Italian  peninsula 
and  the  Iberian,  in  France  and  England,  Bavaria,  Saxony,  Bohemia.^ 

XI.  Note  the  two  selections  that  follow,  in  comparison  with  the  defini- 

•  Ralph  Adams  Cram:  The  Heart  nf  Europe.   By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  New  York  City.     Copyright,  1916. 


DEFINITION  105 

tions  of  a  responsible  statesman  and  quack  novels  on  pages  87  and 
88,  and  write  a  definition  of  any  of  the  following  groups,  using  the 
method  of  comparison  and  contrast. 

A  sale  of  personal  property  is  the  transfer  of  its  general  owner- 
ship from  one  person  to  another  for  a  price  in  money.  It  is  almost 
always  the  result  of  a  contract  between  the  seller  and  the  buyer. 
If  the  contract  provides  for  the  transfer  of  ownership  at  once 
the  transaction  is  called  "a  present  sale,  "  or  "  a  bargain  and  sale," 
or  "an  executed  contract  of  sale.  "  If  it  provides  for  the  trans- 
fer of  ownership  at  some  future  time  it  is  called  "a  contract  to 
sell,"  or  "an  executory  contract  of  sale." 

The  business  transaction  most  nearly  resembling  a  sale  is  that 
of  barter,  or  the  transfer  of  one  article  of  personal  property  for 
another,  as  when  A  and  B  trade  horses,  or  wagons,  or  oats,  or 
cows.  It  differs  from  a  sale  only  in  this,  that  the  consideration 
for  each  transfer  is  the  counter-transfer  of  a  chattel  instead  of 
money.  Next  to  barter  in  its  likeness  to  sale  is  a  mortgage  of 
persoi^al  property,  usually  called  a  chattel  mortgage.  This,  in 
form,  is  a  sale,  but  it  contains  a  proviso  that  if  the  mortgagor  pays 
a  certain  amount  of  money,  or  does  some  other  act,  at  a  stipulated 
time,  the  sale  shall  be  void.  Even  though  the  mortgagor  does  not 
perform  the  act  promised  at  the  agreed  time,  he  still  has  the  right 
to  redeem  the  property  from  the  mortgage  by  paying  his  debt  with 
interest.  In  other  words,  a  chattel  mortgage  does  not  transfer 
general  ownership,  or  absolute  property  in  the  chattels,  while  a 
sale  does. 

A  sale  differs  from  a  bailment.  .  .  .  The  former  is  the  transfer  of 
title  to  goods,  the  latter  of  their  possession.  A  bailee  undertakes 
to  restore  to  the  bailor  the  very  thing  bailed,  although  it  may  be 
in  a  changed  form,  while  the  buyer  is  to  pay  money  to  the  seller 
for  the  subject-matter  of  their  contract.^ 

The  familiar  distinction  between  the  poetic  and  the  scientific 
temper  is  another  way  of  stating  the  same  difference.  The  one 
fuses  or  crystallizes  external  objects  and  circumstances  in  the 
medium  of  human  feeling  and  passion;  the  other  is  concerned  with 
the  relations  of  objects  and  circumstances  among  themselves,  in- 
cluding in  them  all  the  facts  of  human  consciousness,  and  with 
the  discovery  and  classification  of  these  relations.  There  is,  too, 
a  corresponding  distinction  between  the  aspects  which  conduct, 
character,  social  movement,  and  the  objects  of  nature  are  able  to 
present,  according  as  we  scrutinize  them  with  a  view  to  exactitude 
of  knowledge,  or  are  stirred  by  some  appeal  which  they  make  to 

I  Francis  M.  Burdick:  The  Essentials  of  Business  Lair.     By  courtesy  of  the  publishers, 
D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York  City.     Copyright,  1902  and  1908. 


IOC  EXPOSITORY  WTIITING 

our  various  faculties  and  forms  of  sensibility,  our  tenderness,  sym- 
pathy, awe,  terror,  love  of  beauty,  and  all  the  other  emotions  in 
this  momentous  catalogue.  The  starry  heavens  have  one  side  for 
the  astronomer,  as  astronomer,  and  another  for  the  poet,  as  poet. 
The  nightingale,  the  skylark,  the  cuckoo,  move  one  sort  of  interest 
in  an  ornithologist,  and  a  very  different  sort  in  a  Shelley  or  a 
Wordsworth.  The  hoary  and  stupendous  formations  of  the  inor- 
ganic world,  the  thousand  tribes  of  insects,  the  great  universe  of 
plants,  from  those  whose  size  and  form  and  hue  make  us  afraid 
as  if  they  were  deadly  monsters,  down  to  "the  meanest  flower  that 
blows,"  all  these  are  clothed  with  one  set  of  attributes  by  scientific 
intelligence,  and  with  another  by  sentiment,  fancy,  and  imagina- 
tive association.^ 

1.  Autocracy  and  Democracy. 

2.  Fame  and  Notoriety. 

3.  Cribbing  and  Lying. 

4.  Immorality  and  Unconventionality. 

5.  Musician  and  Music  Lover. 

6.  Popularity  and  Cheapness. 

7.  Enthusiast  and  Crank. 

8.  An  Irish  Bull  and  a  Paradox. 

9.  Puppy  Love  and  Real  Love. 

10.  Boiling  and  Broiling. 

1 1 .  Honesty  and  Truthfulness. 

12.  White  Lies  and  Falsehoods. 

13.  Liberty  and  License. 

14.  Wages  and  Unearned  Increment. 

15.  Knowledge  and  Scholarship. 

16.  Religion  and  Superstition. 

17.  Broadmindedness  and  Spinelessness. 

18.  Architecture  and  Architectural  Engineering. 

19.  Socialism  and  Anarchy. 

20.  Wit  and  Humor. 

21.  Enough  and  Sufficient. 

22.  Genetic  Heredity  and  Social  Heredity. 
■    23.  Lying  and  Diplomacy. 

24.  Theology  and  Religion. 

25.  Force,  Energy,  and  Power. 

26.  Sanitary  Engineers  and  Plumbers. 

27.  Business,  Trade,  and  Commerce. 

28.  "Kidding"  and  Taunting. 

29.  Eminence  and  Prominence. 

30.  Realism  and  Romanticism. 

-  31.  Kinetic  and  Potential  Energy. 

>  JoLn  Morlcy:  Mwrllanica,  vol.  i.      By  courtesy  of    the    publishers,  The  Macmillan 
Company,  New  York  City. 


DEFINITION  107 

32.  Popular  and  Permanent  Literature. 

33.  A  "Gentleman  Farmer"  and  a  Producer. 

34.  An  Employer  and  a  Slave-driver. 

35.  A  Practical  Joke  and  a  "Mean  Trick." 

Is  the  following  selection  properly  a  definition  by  the  method 
of  comparison?  What  is  defined?  Are  the  general  statements 
that  serve  as  background  true?  In  how  far  does  the  whole  selec- 
tion depend  for  its  validity  upon  the  truth  of  these  general  state- 
ments? 

There  is  a  difference  between  boys  and  men,  but  it  is  a  difference 
of  self-knowledge  chiefly.  A  boy  wants  to  do  everything  because 
he  does  not  know  he  cannot;  a  man  wants  to  do  something  because 
he  knows  he  cannot  do  everything;  a  boy  always  fails,  and  a  man 
sometimes  succeeds  because  the  man  knows  and  the  boy  does  not 
know.  A  man  is  better  than  a  boy  because  he  knows  better;  he 
has  learned  by  experience  that  what  is  a  harm  to  others  is  a  greater 
harm  to  himself,  and  he  would  rather  not  do  it.  But  a  hoy  hardly 
knows  what  harm  is,  and  he  does  it  mostly  without  realizing  that 
it  hurts.  He  cannot  invent  anything,  he  can  only  imitate;  and  it 
is  easier  to  imitate  evil  than  good.  You  can  imitate  war,  but  how 
are  you  going  to  imitate  peace?  So  a  boy  passes  his  leisure  in 
contriving  mischief.  If  you  get  another  fellow  to  walk  into  a 
wasp's  camp,  you  can  see  him  jump  and  hear  him  howl,  but  if  you 
do  not,  then  nothing  at  all  happens.  If  you  set  a  dog  to  chase  a 
cat  up  a  tree,  then  something  has  been  done;  but  if  you  do  not  set 
the  dog  on  the  cat,  then  the  cat  just  lies  in  the  sun  and  sleeps  and 
you  lose  your  time.  If  a  boy  could  find  out  some  way  of  doing 
good,  so  that  he  could  be  active  in  it,  very  likely  he  would  want  to 
do  good  now  and  then;  but  as  he  cannot,  he  very  seldom  wants  to 
do  good.^ 

XII.  Does  the  style  of  the  definition  of  moral  atmosphere  (page  9)  fit 
well  with  the  subject?  Would  the  definition  be  more  effective  if 
written  in  a  more  formal  style? 

Define  : 

1 .  The  scholarly  atmosphere  of  a  university. 

2.  The  business  atmosphere  of  the  Stock  Exchange. 

3.  The  holy  atmosphere  of  a  large  church. 

4.  The  inhuman  atmosphere  of  an  ordinary  criminal  court. 

5.  The  human  atmosphere  of  a  reunion  (of  a  class,  a  family,  a 
group  of  friends) . 

*  William  Dean  Howells  :  A  Boy'a    Tmcn.     By  courtesy  of  the  publishers.  Harper  & 
Brothers,  New  York  City.    Copyright,  1890. 


108  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

6.  The  majestic  atmosphere  of  Niagara  Falls. 

7.  The  beautiful  atmosphere  of  a  pond  of  skaters. 

C  inspiring  ^ 

8.  The  "1  1      .  1  f  atmosphere  of  a  steel  mill. 


-  beautiful  J 
9.  The  calm  atmosphere  of  a  dairy  farm. 
XIII.  Does  the  following  selection  serve  to  define  honor  as  too  difficult 
of  attainment,  as  too  closely  bound  up  with  fighting?  Is  any  defi- 
nition of  privilege  implied.''  Define  honor  as  taught  in  a  college  and 
honor  as  taught  in  the  business  world.  Can  a  State  University  af- 
ford to  maintain  the  kind  of  honor  that  forces  it  to  "remain  loyal 
to  unpopular  causes  and  painful  truths".^  Is  the  honor  th^t  seeks 
"to  maintain  faith  even  with  the  devil"  foolish.''  Write  a  report  on 
the  state  of  honor  in  your  college  or  university  such  as  Washington 
or  Lincoln  would  have  written  after  investigating  conditions  in  the 
student  politics  of  the  institution,  or  conditions  in  examinations 
and  quizzes. 

Honor,  perhaps  because  it  is  associated  in  the  public  mind  with 
old  ideas  of  dueling  and  paying  gambling  debts,  and  in  general 
with  the  habits,  good  and  bad,  of  a  privileged  class,  is  not  in  high 
repute  with  a  modern  industrial  community,  where  bankruptcy 
laws,  the  letter  of  the  statute  book,  the  current  morality  of  an 
easy-going,  good-natured,  success-loving  people,  mark  out  a 
smoother  path.  But  the  business  of  a  college  is  not  to  fit  a  boy 
for  the  world,  but  to  fit  him  to  mould  the  world  to  his  ideal. 
Honor  is  not  necessarily  old-fashioned  and  antiquated;  it  will  adapt 
itself  to  the  present  and  to  the  future.  If  it  is  arbitrary,  or  at  least 
has  an  arbitrary  element,  so  are  most  codes  of  law.  If  honor  be- 
longs to  a  privileged  class,  it  is  because  it  makes  a  privileged  class; 
a  body  of  men  whose  privilege  it  is  to  speak  out  in  the  scorn  of 
consequence,  to  keep  an  oath  to  their  own  hurt,  to  remain  loyal 
to  unpopular  causes  and  painful  truths,  to  maintain  faith  even 
with  the  devil,  and  not  swerve  for  rewards,  prizes,  popularity, 
or  any  of  the  blandishments  of  success.  Because  it  is  arbitrary, 
because  it  has  rules,  it  needs  to  be  taught.  To  teach  a  code  of 
honor  is  one  of  the  main  purposes  of  education;  a  college  cannot 
say,  "We  teach  academic  studies,"  and  throw  the  responsibility 
for  honor  on  parents,  on  preliminary  schools,  on  undergraduate 
opinion,  on  each  boy's  conscience.  Honor  is  taught  by  the  com- 
panionship, the  standards,  the  ideals,  the  talk,  the  actions  of 
honorable  men;  it  is  taught  by  honoring  honorable  failure  and 
turning  the  back  on  all  manner  of  di.shonorable  success.  ^ 

1  Ilonry  Dwight  Sedgwick:   The  New  American   Type.     Houghton    MifHin    Company. 
Boslon,  publishers. 


DEFINITION  109 

XIV.  Define,  by  showing  the  origin,  any  of  the  following: 

Highway  Engineering,  The  County  Agricultural  Adviser,  Cus- 
toms Officer,  A  private  secretary.  The  linotype  machine.  National 
public  opinion.  The  Federal  Reserve  Board,  The  "Spoils  System," 
The  American  Federation  of  Labor,  American  "Moral  Leadership" 
in  1918,  The  Caste  System,  The  mechanical  stoker.  The  canal  lock. 
The  trial  balance  sheet.  The  Babcock  Test. 
XV.  Are  the  following  statements  true  definitions.?  Wherein  does 
their  worth  consist?  What  causes  any  weakness  that  they  may 
have? 
"    1.  Life  is  one  long  process  of  getting  tired. 

2.  Life  is  the  distribution  of  an  error  —  or  errors. 
■    3.  Life  is  eight  parts  cards  and  two  parts  play;  the  unseen  world 

is  made  manifest  to  us  in  the  play. 
■"    4.  Life  is  the  art  of  drawing  sufficient  conclusions  from  insuffi- 
cient premises. 

6.  The  body  is  but  a  pair  of  pincers  set  over  a  bellows  and  a  stew- 
pan  and  the  whole  fixed  upon  stilts. 

~  6.  Morality  is  the  custom  of  one's  country  and  the  current  feel- 
ing of  one's  peers.    Cannibalism  is  moral  in  a  cannibal  country. 

7.  Heaven  is  the  work  of  the  best  and  kindest  men  and  women. 
Hell  is  the  work  of  prigs,  pedants  and  professional  truth-tellers. 
The  world  is  an  attempt  to  make  the  best  of  both. 

8.  Going  to  your  doctor  is  having  such  a  row  with  your  cells  that 
you  refer  them  to  your  solicitor.  Sometimes  you,  as  it  were, 
strike  against  them  and  stop  their  food,  when  they  go  on  strike 
against  yourself.  Sometimes  you  file  a  bill  in  chancery  against 
them  and  go  to  bed.^ 

XVI.  In  the  light  of  the  following  definition  of  Superiority  of  Status  write 
a  definition  of  any  of  the  following:  Superiority  of  birth.  Superiority 
of  training.  Superiority  of  vitality,  Superiority  of  environment, 
Superiority  of  patronage. 

There  is  another  sort  of  artificial  superiority  which  also  returns 
an  artificial  rent:  the  superiority  of  pure  status.  What  are 
called  "superiors"  are  just  as  necessary  in  social  organization  as 
a  keystone  is  in  an  arch;  but  the  keystone  is  made  of  no  better 
material  than  any  other  parts  of  a  bridge;  its  importance  is  con- 
ferred upon  it  by  its  position,  not  its  position  by  its  importance. 
If  half-a-dozen  men  are  cast  adrift  in  a  sailing-boat,  they  will 
need  a  captain.  It  seems  simple  enough  for  them  to  choose  the 
ablest  man;  but  there  may  easily  be  no  ablest  man.  The  whole 
six,  or  four  out  of  the  six,  or  two  out  of  the  six,  may  be  apparently 
equally  fit  for  the  post.  In  that  case,  the  captain  must  be  elected 
by  lot;  but  the  moment  he  assumes  his  authority,  that  authority 
•  All  these  are  from  The  Note-Books  of  Samuel  Butler,  published  by  A.  C.  Fifield,  London. 


110  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

makes  him  at  once  literally  the  ablest  man  in  the  boat.  He  has 
the  powers  which  the  other  five  have  given  him  for  their  own 
good.  Take  another  instance.  Napoleon  gained  the  command 
of  the  French  army  because  he  was  the  ablest  general  in  France. 
But  suppose  every  individual  in  the  French  army  had  been  a 
Napoleon  also!  None  the  less  a  commander-in-chief,  with  his 
whole  hierarchy  of  subalterns,  would  have  had  to  be  appointed 
—  by  lot  if  you  like  —  and  here,  again,  from  the  moment  the  lot 
was  cast,  the  particular  Napoleon  who  drew  the  straw  for  the  com- 
mander-in-chief would  have  been  the  great,  the  all-powerful  Na- 
poleon, much  more  able  than  the  Napoleons  who  were  corporals 
and  privates.  After  a  year,  the  difference  in  ability  between  the 
men  who  had  been  doing  nothing  but  sentry  duty,  under  no  strain 
of  responsiljility,  and  the  man  who  had  been  commanding  the 
army  would  have  been  enormous.  As  "the  defenders  of  the  sys- 
tem of  Conservatism"  well  know,  we  have  for  centuries  made 
able  men  out  of  ordinary  ones  by  allowing  them  to  inherit  ex- 
ceptional power  and  status;  and  the  success  of  the  plan  in  the 
phase  of  social  development  to  which  it  was  proper  was  due  to  the 
fact  that,  provided  the  favored  man  was  really  an  ordinary  man, 
and  not  a  duffer,  the  extraordinary  power  conferred  on  him  did  ef- 
fectually create  extraordinary  ability  as  compared  with  that  of 
an  agricultural  laborer,  for  example,  of  equal  natural  endow-- 
ments.  The  gentleman,  the  lord,  the  king,  all  discharging  social 
functions  of  which  the  laborer  is  incapable,  are  products  as  arti- 
ficial as  queen  bees.  Their  superiority  is  produced  by  giving 
them  a  superior  status,  just  as  the  inferiority  of  the  laborer  is 
produced  by  giving  him  an  inferior  status.  But  the  superior  in- 
come which  is  the  appanage  of  superior  status  is  not  rent  of  abil- 
ity. It  is  a  payment  made  to  a  man  to  exercise  normal  ability, 
in  an  abnormal  situation.  Rent  of  ability  is  what  a  man  gets 
by  exercising  abnormal  ability  in  a  normal  situation.^ 

XVII.  In  the  following  selection  how  many  definitions  occur,  or  how  many 
things  are  defined?  Do  you  understand  what  the  author  says.'' 
How  many  words  do  you  have  to  look  up  in  the  dictionary  before 
you  understand  the  article?  Could  the  author  have  made  the  sub- 
ject clear  in  a  sensible  extent  of  space? 

What  would  you  say  is  the  chief  virtue  of  the  selection?  How  ia 
it  gained?  For  what  kind  of  audience  was  the  article  written? 
Wliat  was  the  author's  controlling  purpose?  Point  out  how  he  at- 
tains it. 

Do  you  find  any  pattern-designers  among  novelists,  poets,  archi- 
tects, landscape  gardeners?     Name  a  novel,  a  poem,  a  building,  a 

>  George  Bernard  Shaw:,  Socialiam  and  Superior  Brains.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers! 
John  Lane  Company. 


DEFINITION  111 

park,  which  is  primarily  a  pattern-design.  Name  one  which  is  not 
a  pattern-design  so  much  as  a  dramatic  expression.  Which  is  the 
more  significant.'*     Wliich  is  more  difficult  to  make.' 

Define:  Futurist  painting.  Free  verse,  Social  morality,  in  rela- 
tion to  their  preceding  forms.  Explain,  through  definition,  the 
controversy  between  Paganism  and  Christianity,  between  Monarchy 
and  Democracy,  between  Classical  Education  and  Industrial  Edu- 
cation, between  Party  Politics  and  Independent  Politics,  between 
Established  Religion  and  Non-Conformist  Views. 

Music  is  like  drawing,  in  that  it  can  be  purely  decorative,  or 
purely  dramatic,  or  anything  between  the  two.  .  .  .  You  can  com- 
pose a  graceful,  symmetrical  sound-pattern  that  exists  solely  for 
the  sake  of  its  own  grace  and  symmetry.  Or  you  can  compose 
music  to  heighten  the  expression  of  human  emotion;  and  such 
music  will  be  intensely  affecting  in  the  presence  of  that  emotion, 
and  utter  nonsense  apart  from  it.  For  examples  of  pure  pattern- 
designing  in  music  I  should  have  to  go  back  to  the  old  music  of 
the  thirteenth,  fourteenth,  and  fifteenth  centuries  .  .  .  designed  to 
affect  the  hearer  solely  by  its  beauty  of  sound  and  grace  and  in- 
genuity of  pattern;  absolute  music,  represented  to-day  in  the 
formal  sonata  and  symphony.  .  .  . 

The  first  modern  dramatic  composers  accepted  as  binding  the 
rules  of  good  pattern-designing  in  sound;  and  this  absurdity  was 
made  to  appear  practicable  from  the  fact  that  Mozart  had  such 
an  extraordinary  command  of  his  art  that  his  operas  contain  num- 
bers which,  though  they  seem  to  follow  the  dramatic  play  of 
emotion  and  character,  without  reference  to  any  other  consider- 
ation whatever,  are  seen,  upon  examining  them  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  absolute  musician,  to  be  perfectly  symmetrical  sound- 
patterns.  .  .  .  Even  Mozart  himself  broke  away  in  all  directions, 
and  was  violently  attacked  by  his  contemporaries  for  doing  so,  the 
accusations  levelled  at  him  being  exactly  those  with  which  the 
opponents  of  Wagner  so  often  pester  ourselves.  Wagner  com- 
pleted the  emancipation  of  the  dramatic  musician  from  these 
laws  of  pattern-designing;  and  we  now  have  operas,  and  very 
good  ones,  too,  written  by  composers  not  musicians  in  the  old 
sense  at  all:  that  is,  they  are  not  pattern-designers;  they  do  not 
compose  music  apart  from  drama. 

The  dramatic  development  also  touched  purely  instrumental 
music.  Liszt  tried  hard  to  extricate  himself  from  pianoforte 
arabesques,  and  become  a  tone  poet  like  his  friend  Wagner.  He 
wanted  his  symphonic  poems  to  express  emotions  and  their  de- 
velopment. And  he  defined  the  emotion  by  connecting  it  with 
some  known  story,  poem,  or  even  picture:  Mazeppa,  Victor 
Hugo's  Les  Preludes,  Kaulbach's  Die  Hunnenschlacht,  or  the 


112  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

like.  But  the  moment  you  try  to  make  an  instrumental  compo- 
sition follow  a  story,  you  are  forced  to  abandon  the  decorative 
pattern  forms,  since  all  patterns  consist  of  some  form  which  is 
repeated  over  and  over  again,  and  which  generally  consists  in 
itself  of  a  repetition  of  two  similar  halves.  For  example,  if  you 
take  a  playing-card  (say  the  five  of  diamonds)  as  a  simple  ex- 
ample of  pattern,  you  find  not  only  that  the  diamond  pattern 
is  repeated  five  times,  but  that  each  established  form  of  a  sym- 
phony is  essentially  a  pattern  form  involving  just  such  symmetri- 
cal repetitions;  and,  since  a  story  does  not  repeat  itself,  but  pur- 
sues a  continuous  chain  of  fresh  incident  and  correspondingly 
varied  emotions,  Liszt  invented  the  symphonic  poem,  a  per- 
fectly simple  and  fitting  common-sense  form  for  his  purpose, 
and  one  which  makes  Les  Preludes  much  plainer  sailing  for  the 
ordinary  hearer  than  Mendelssohn's  Melusine  overture  or  Raff's 
Lenore  or  Im  Walde  symphonies,  in  both  of  which  the  formal 
repetitions  would  stamp  Raff  as  a  madman  if  we  did  not  know 
that  they  were  mere  superstitions.^ 

'  George  Bernard  Shaw:  The  Sanity  oj  AH,  "Wagnerism."     By  courtesy  of  the  pub- 
lishers, Boni  &  Liveright. 


CHAPTER  IV 
ANxlLYSIS 

Suppose  that  the  president  of  a  railroad  asked  you  to 
report  on  the  feasibiUty  of  a  proposed  line  through  a  range 
of  hills;  or  that  you  found  it  necessary  to  prove  to  an  over- 
conservative  farmer  that  he  should  erect  a  hollow-tile  silo 
at  once;  or  that  your  duty  as  chairman  of  the  town  play- 
ground committee  led  you  to  examine  an  empty  lot  for  its 
possibilities;  or  that,  as  an  expert  in  finance,  you  were  try- 
ing to  learn  the  cause  of  the  deficit  in  a  country  club's 
accounts.  In  the  first  case  you  would  examine  the  proposed 
route  for  its  practicability,  would  estimate  the  grades  to  be 
reduced,  would  look  into  the  question  of  drainage,  would 
consider  the  possibility  of  landslides,  would  survey  the  qual- 
ity of  the  road-bed:  all  with  a  view  to  making  a  complete 
report  on  the  practicability  of  the  route  proposed.  In  the 
other  cases  you  would  determine  the  conditions  in  general 
that  you  confronted,  would  answer  the  questions:  what  is 
the  value  of  a  hollow-tile  silo?  why  is  this  site  suitable  for  a 
playground?  what  is  wrong  with  the  finances  of  this  club? 
Such  tasks  as  these  occur  in  life  all  the  time;  in  college  they 
confront  one  whenever  an  inconsiderate  instructor  asks  for 
a  term  paper  on,  say,  "  Conditions  in  New  York  that  Made 
the  Tweed  Ring  Possible,"  or  "The  Influence  of  the  Great 
War  on  Dyestuffs,"  or  "Tennyson's  Early  Training  as  an 
Influence  on  his  Poetry,"  or  some  other  subject.  In  every  c-  • 
one  of  these  cases  the  writer  who  attempts  to  answer  the 
questions  involved  is  writing  analysis,  for  -^nalysisjis  the  ,  ^  ^, 

breaking  up  of  a  subject  into  its  component  parts,  seeing  of 

what  it  is  composed. 

In  every  such  case  you  would  wish,  first  of  all,  to  tell  the 


114  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

truth.  Of  what  use  would  your  analysis  be  if  you  incor- 
rectly estimated  the  drainage  of  the  proposed  railway  route 
and  the  company  had  to  expend  thousands  of  dollars  in 
fighting  improper  seepage?  Unless  the  analysis  was  accurate, 
it  would  be  useless  or  worse.  But  suppose  that  you  told  the 
truth  about  the  site  for  the  playground,  its  central  position, 
its  wealth  of  shade,  its  proper  soil  conditions,  and  yet  forgot 
to  take  into  account  the  sluggish,  noisome  stream  that 
flowed  on  one  side  of  the  plot  and  bred  disease?  Your  report 
would  be  valueless  because  it  would  be,  in  a  vital  point, 
quite  lacking.  In  other  words,  it  would  be  incomplete.  For 
practical  purposes  it  would  therefore,  of  course,  be  untrue. 

If  you  wish  to  write  an  analysis,  then,  your  path  is  straight, 
and  it  leads  between  the  two  virtues  of  truth  and  thorough- 
ness. Your  catechism  should  be:  Have  I  hugged  my  fact 
close  and  told  the  truth  about  it?,  and,  Have  I  really  covered 
the  ground? 

The  question  of  truth  enters  into  every  analysis;  none 
may  falsify.  Completeness,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  more 
relative  matter.  In  the  report  of  a  tariff  commission  it  is 
essential;  all  the  ground  must  be  covered.  In  a  thorough 
survey  of  Beethoven's  music  no  sonata  or  quartette  may  be 
omitted.  In  determining  the  causes  of  an  epidemic  no  clue 
is  to  be  left  unexamined  until  all  possibilities  have  been  ex- 
hausted. In  the  case  of  the  term  paper  mentioned  above, 
on  the  other  hand,  "  Tennyson's  Early  Training  as  an  Influ- 
ence on  his  Poetry,"  not  everything  in  his  early  life  can  be 
considered  in  anything  short  of  a  volume.  In  such  a  case 
you  may  well  be  puzzled  what  to  do  until  you  are  suddenly 
cheered  by  the  thought  that  your  task  is  primarily  one  of 
interpretation,  that  what  you  are  seeking  is  the  spirit  of 
the  training.  There  would  seem,  therefore,  to  be  various 
degrees  of  completeness  in  analysis.  On  the  basis  of  com- 
pleteness, then,  we  may  divide  analysis  into  the  two  classes^ 
of  the  Formal  and  the  Informal. 


ANALYSIS  115 

.  The  Two  Classes  of  Analysis  a  ^\ 

Formal  analysis  is  sometimes  called  logical  analysis  — 
that  is,  complete,  as  in  the  report  of  a  tariff  commission  — 
because  it  continues  its  splitting  into  subheadings  until  the 
demands  of  the  thought  are  entirely  satisfied.  Such  thor- 
ough meeting  of  all  demands  might  well  occur  in  an  analysis 
of  trades-unions,  or  methods  of  heating  houses,  or  such  sub- 
jects. Informal  analysis,  on  the  other  hand,  which  is  some- 
times called  literary  analysis,  does  not  attempt  to  be  so 
thorough,  but  aims  rather  at  giving  the  core  of  the  subject, 
at  making  the  spirit  of  it  clear  to  the  reader.  For  example, 
Mr.  P.  E.  More  in  an  essay  on  Tennyson,  which  is  primarily 
an  informal  analysis,  makes  one  main  point,  that  "Tenny- 
son was  the  Victorian  Age."  This  he  divides  into  three 
headings:  (1)  Tennyson  was  humanly  loved  by  the  great 
Victorians;  (2)  Tennyson  was  the  poet  of  compromise; 
(3)  Tennyson  was  the  poet  of  insight.  Now  in  these  three 
points  Mr.  More  has  not  said  all  that  he  could  say,  in  fact 
he  has  omitted  many  things  that  from  some  angle  would  be 
important,  but  he  has  said  those  things  truthfully  that  are 
needed  for  a  proper  interpretation  of  the  subject,  for  a 
sufficient  illumination  of  it,  for  showing  its  spirit.  It  is, 
therefore,  a  piece  of  informal  analysis. 

The  two  examples  which  follow  illustrate  formal  and  in- 
formal analysis,  the  first  one  classifying  rock  drills  thor- 
oughly, and  the  second  very  informally  discussing  some 
odds  against  Shakespeare. 

Hammer  drills  may  be  classed  under  several  heads,  as  follows: 
(1)  Those  mounted  on  a  cradle  like  a  piston  drill  and  fed  forward 
by  a  screw;  (2)  those  used  and  held  in  the  hand;  and  (3)  those 
used  and  mounted  on  an  air-fed  arrangement.  The  last  two 
classes  are  often  interchangeable. 

Mr.  Leyner,  though  now  making  drills  of  the  latter  classes,  was 
the  pioneer  of  the  large  3-inch  diameter  piston  machine  to  be 


116  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

worked  in  competition  with  large  piston  drills.  The  smaller 
Leyner  Rock  Terrier  drill  was  brought  out  for  stopping  and  driv- 
ing; it  could  not,  apparently,  compete  with  machines  of  other 
classes. 

When  the  drills  are  thus  divided  we  have: 

1.  Cradle  drills  —  Leyner,  Leyner  Rock  Terrier,  Stephens 
Imperial  hammer  drills  and  the  Kimber. 

2.  Drills  used  only  with  air  feed  —  Gordon  drill  and  the  large 
sizes  of  the  Murphy,  Little  Wonder,  and  others. 

3.  Drills  used  held  in  the  hand  or  with  air  feed  —  Murphy, 
Flottman,  Cleveland,  Little  Wonder,  Shaw,  Hardy  Nipper,  Sin- 
clair, Sullivan,  Little  Jap,  Little  Imp,  Traylor,  and  others.  Again, 
they  may  be  divided  into  those  that  are  valveless,  with  the  differ- 
ential piston  or  hammer  itself  acting  as  a  valve.  The  Murphy, 
Smclair,  Little  Wonder,  Shaw,  Little  Imp,  Leyner  Rock  Terrier, 
and  Kimber  drills  belong  to  this  class.  The  large  Leyner  drill  is 
worked  by  a  spool  valve  resembling  that  of  the  Slugger  drill;  the 
Flottman  by  a  ball  valve;  the  Little  Jap  by  an  axial  valve;  the 
Gordon  drUl,  by  a  spool  valve  set  at  one  end  of  the  cylinder  at  right 
angles  to  it;  the  Waugh  and  Sullivan  drills  by  spool  valves  set  in 
the  same  axial  line  as  the  cylinder;  the  Hardy  Nipper,  and  the 
Stephens  Imperial  hammer  drills  by  an  air-moved  slide-valve  set 
midway  on  the  side  of  the  cylinder;  the  Cleveland  by  a  spool  set 
towards  the  rear  of  the  cylinder. 

They  may  again  be  divided  into  those  drills  in  which  the  piston 
hammer  delivers  its  blow  on  the  end  of  the  steel  itself.  A  collar 
is  placed  on  the  drill  to  prevent  its  entering  the  cylinder.  The 
other  class  has  an  anvil  block  or  striking  pin.  This  anvil  block 
fits  into  the  end  of  the  cylinder  between  the  piston  and  the  steel. 
It  receives  and  transmits  the  blow,  and  also  prevents  the  drill  end 
from  entering  the  cylinder.* 

Powerful  among  the  enemies  of  Shakespeare  are  the  commen- 
tator and  the  elocutionist;  the  commentator  because,  not  knowing 
Shakespeare's  language,  he  sharpens  his  faculties  to  examine  propo- 
sitions advanced  by  an  eminent  lecturer  from  the  Midlands,  in- 

1  Eustace  M.  Weston:  7£oc/i;  Z)n7/3.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  McGraw-Hill  Publish- 
ing Company.     Copyright. 


ANALYSIS  117 

stead  of  sensitizing  his  artistic  faculty  to  receive  the  impression  of 
moods  and  inflexions  of  being  conveyed  by  word-music;  the  elocu- 
tionist because  he  is  a  born  fool,  in  which  capacity,  observing  with 
pain  that  poets  have  a  weakness  for  imparting  to  their  dramatic 
dialog  a  quality  which  he  describes  and  deplores  as  "sing-song," 
he  devotes  his  life  to  the  art  of  breaking  up  verse  in  such  a  way  as 
to  make  it  sound  like  insanely  pompous  prose.  The  effect  of  this 
on  Shakespeare's  earlier  verse,  which  is  full  of  the  nai've  delight  of 
pure  oscillation,  to  be  enjoyed  as  an  Italian  enjoys  a  barcarolle, 
or  a  child  a  swing,  or  a  baby  a  rocking-cradle,  is  destructively 
stupid.  In  the  later  plays,  where  the  barcarolle  measure  has 
evolved  into  much  more  varied  and  complex  rhythms,  it  does  not 
matter  so  much,  since  the  work  is  no  longer  simple  enough  for  a 
fool  to  pick  to  pieces.  But  in  every  play  from  Love's  Labour's  Lost 
to  Henry  V,  the  elocutionist  meddles  simply  as  a  murderer,  and 
ought  to  be  dealt  with  as  such  without  benefit  of  clergy.  To  our 
young  people  studying  for  the  stage  I  say,  with  all  solemnity, 
learn  how  to  pronounce  the  English  alphabet  clearly  and  beautifully 
from  some  person  who  is  at  once  an  artist  and  a  phonetic  expert. 
And  then  leave  blank  verse  patiently  alone  untQ  you  have  experi- 
enced emotion  deep  enough  to  crave  for  poetic  expression,  at  which 
point  verse  will  seem  an  absolutely  natural  and  real  form  of  speech 
to  you.  Meanwhile,  if  any  pedant,  with  an  uncultivated  heart 
and  a  theoretic  ear,  proposes  to  teach  you  to  recite,  send  instantly 
for  the  police.  ^ 

Analyses  are  to  be  divided  also  upon  the  basis  of  whether 
the  subject  is  an  individual  or  a  group  of  individuals,  that 
is,  whether  the  subject  is,  for  example,  the  quality  of  jjatriot- 
ism,  which  is  to  be  analyzed  into  its  components,  or,  in  the 
second  place,  shade  trees,  which  are  to  be  grouped  into  the 
classes  which  together  constitute  such  trees.  Of  these  two 
kinds  of  analysis  we  call  the  first  Partition  and  the  second 
Classification.  The  logical  process  is  the  same  in  the  two 
cases,  in  that  it  divides  the  subject;  the  difference  lies  in 
the  fact  that  in  the  first  case  the  subject  is  always  single, 

•  George  Bernard  Shaw:  Dramatic  Opinions  and  Essays.  Archibald  Constable  &  Co., 
Ltd.,  London,  publishers. 


118  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

though  it  may  of  course  be  eompHcated,  and  in  the  second 
it  is  always  plural,  and  may  contain  a  very  large  number 
of  individuals,  as  for  example  the  human  race  —  all  the 
billions  of  all  the  ages  gone  and  yet  to  come. 

In  this  treatment  of  analysis  you  will  find  the  main  divi- 
sions made  on  the  basis  of  formality  and  the  matter  of  single 
or  plural  subject  treated  under  each  of  the  other  headings. 

Formal  Analysis 

Formal  analysis,  which  requires  completeness  of  division, 
—  which  is  not  well  done  until  every  individual  case  is 
accounted  for,  or,  in  Partition,  every  quality  or  factor  or 
part,  —  is  found  in  reports  to  corporations,  in  estimates  of 
conditions  for  some  society,  in  government  documents,  in 
textbooks,  and  in  other  kinds  of  writing  where  detailed  and 
complete  information  is  necessary  for  judgment.  A  report 
to  the  city  of  Chicago  on  the  subject  of  the  smoke  nuisance 
will  be  valuable  largely  as  it  entirely  covers  the  ground,  dis- 
covers all  the  conditions  that  the  city  has  to  face.  Such  a 
report  will  be  primarily  a  partition  of  the  question,  though 
it  may  employ  classification  of  various  like  situations  or 
conditions.  Likewise  an  account  of  the  game  birds  of  North 
America  will  be  a  formal  analysis  only  if  every  kind  of  game 
bird  is  given  a  place  in  the  account.  The  object  of  formal 
classification  and  partition  is  to  give  information,  to  array 
facts  completely.  The  following  classification  of  oriental 
rugs,  which  in  its  course  also  employs  definition,  or  a  close 
approach  to  it,  will  be  finally  suSicient  only  if  no  rug  can 
be  found  which  is  not  included  within  the  classes  named. 
The  partition  of  the  character  of  Queen  Elizabeth  will  be 
of  lasting  value  as  formal  partition  only  if  it  really  accounts 
for  the  total  character  of  the  subject.  That  it  makes  only 
two  main  divisions  is  in  no  way  indicative  of  its  complete- 
ness; the  question  is  merely,  are  all  the  qualities  included 
under  those  two  headings? 


ANALYSIS  119 

It  is  a  common  impression  that  oriental  rugs  are  as  difficult  to 
know  as  the  320,000  specimens  of  plants,  and  the  20,000,000  forms 
of  animal  life  that  Herbert  Spencer  advised  for  the  teaching  of 
boys.  This  impression  is  wrong.  There  are  only  six  groups  or 
families  of  oriental  rugs,  and  less  than  fifty  common  kinds.  The 
novice  can  learn  to  distinguish  the  six  families  in  sixty  minutes. 
He  would  confuse  them  occasionally  on  so  short  acquaintance,  but 
a  college  examiner  would  give  him  a  passing  grade. 

Persian  rugs  are  the  rugs  that  are  profusely  decorated  with  a 
great  variety  of  flowers,  leaves,  vines,  and  occasional  birds  and 
animals,  woven  free  hand,  with  purely  decorative  intent.  India 
rugs  are  those  in  which  flowers,  leaves,  vines,  and  occasional  ani- 
mals are  woven  as  they  appear  in  nature.  Early  Indian  weavers 
transcribed  flowers  to  rugs  as  if  they  were  botanists;  modern 
Indian  weavers  are  copyists  of  Persian  patterns  and  their  copies 
are  plainly  not  originals. 

In  broad  generalization,  therefore,  the  two  families  of  oriental 
rugs  that  are  decorated  almost  exclusively  with  flowers  have  dis- 
tinct styles  that  render  their  identification  comparatively  easy. 

The  Turkoman  and  Caucasian  families  of  oriental  rugs  also  pair 
off  by  themselves.  They  are  the  rugs  of  almost  pure  geometric 
linear  design.  Turkoman  rugs,  comprising  the  products  of  Turkes- 
tan, Bokhara,  Afghanistan,  and  Beluchistan,  are  red  rugs  with 
web  or  open  ends,  woven  in  the  patterns  of  the  kindergarten  — 
squares,  diamonds,  octagons,  etc.  That  wild  tribes  should  dye 
their  wools  in  the  shades  of  blood  and  weave  the  designs  of  child- 
hood is  fitting  and  logical. 

Caucasian  rugs  differ  from  Turkoman  rugs  in  being  dyed  in  other 
colors  than  blood  red,  in  omitting  the  apron  ends,  and  in  being 
more  crowded,  elaborate,  and  pretentious  in  geometric  linear  pat- 
tern. The  Caucasian  weaver's  distinction  as  the  oriental  cartoon- 
ist, the  expert  in  wooden  men,  women,  and  animals,  is  well  deserved. 
He  holds  the  oriental  rug  patent  on  Noah's  ark  designs.  Inciden- 
tally Mount  Ararat  and  Noah's  grave,  "shown"  near  Nakhitche- 
van,  are  located  on  the  southern  border  of  his  country. 

Chinese  and  Turkish  rugs  pair  off  almost  as  logically  as  the  other 
rug  families,  although  they  are  totally  unlike  in  appearance.  They 
contain  both  geometric  linear  and  floral  designs;  the  designs  of  the 


120  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

very  early  rugs  of  both  groups  generally  are  geometric,  and  the 
later  ones  floral.     But  these  facts  are  not  identifying. 

Chinese  rugs  can  be  recognized  instantly  by  their  colors,  which 
are  determined  by  their  backgrounds,  the  reverse  of  the  Persian 
method,  which  is  to  make  the  design  the  principal  color  medium. 
The  Chinese  colors  are  probably  best  described  as  the  lighter  and 
softer  colors  of  silk  —  dull  yellows,  rose,  salmon  red,  browns,  and 
tans,  the  design  usually  being  blue.  The  Chinese  were  the  original 
manufacturers  and  dyers  of  silk,  and  thej'  applied  their  silk  dyes 
to  their  rugs. 

Turkish  rugs  that  are  ornamented  with  flowers  and  leaves  can 
be  distinguished  from  Persian  and  Indian  products  by  the  ruler- 
drawn  character  of  their  patterns.  A  keen  observer  describes  them 
as  quasi-botanical  forms  angularly  treated.  Turkish  rugs  that 
contain  the  patterns  common  to  the  Caucasian  and  Turkoman 
families  can  be  recognized  by  their  brighter,  sharper,  and  more 
contrasting  colors.  The  key  to  the  identification  of  this  most 
diflacult  rug  family  is  to  be  found  in  the  Turkish  prayer  rugs.  To 
know  Turkish  rugs,  one  must  see  many  of  them;  to  know  the  other 
families  one  need  see  only  a  few. 

Reduced  to  a  minimum  statement,  the  identification  of  the  six 
oriental  rug  families  amounts  to  this: 

Persian  rugs  —  floral  designs  drawn  free  hand. 

India  rugs  —  floral  designs  photographed  and  copied. 

Turkoman  rugs  —  geometric  linear  design,  blood  red,  web  ends, 

Caucasian  rugs  —  geometric  linear  designs,  numerous  blended 
colors. 

Chinese  rugs  —  floral  and  geometric  linear  designs,  silk  colors. 

Turkish  rugs  —  floral  designs,  angular,  ruled;  and  geometrical 
designs,  bright  contrasting  colors. 

To  be  able  to  identify  an  oriental  rug  as  a  particular  kind  of 
Persian,  Indian,  Turkish,  Turkoman,  Caucasian  or  Chinese  weav- 
ing is  somewhat  more  of  an  accomplishment.  The  way  to  begin 
is  to  study  first  the  rugs  that  have  distinct  or  fairly  constant 
characteristics.     Take  Persian  rugs,  for  example: 

Bijar  —  rugs  as  thick  as  two  or  even  three  ordinary  rugs. 

Fereghan  —  small  leaf  design,  usually  with  green  border. 

Gorcvan  or  Serapi  —  huge  medallions,  strong  reds  and  blues. 


ANALYSIS  121 

Herat  or  Ispahan  —  intricate,  stately  design  on  claret  ground. 

Hamadan  —  a  camel  hair  rug. 

Kashan  —  dark,  rich,  closely  patterned,  extremely  finely  woven. 

Kermanshah  —  the  "parlor"  rug,  soft  cream,  rose,  and  blue. 

Khorassan  —  plum  colored,  small  leaf  design,  long,  soft,  wool. 

Kurd  —  colored  yarn  run  through  the  end  web. 

Meshed  —  soft  rose  and  blue  with  silver  cast. 

Polonaise  —  delicately  colored  antique  silk  rug. 

Saraband  —  palm  leaf  or  India  shawl  design  on  rose  or  blue 
ground. 

Sehna  —  closest  woven  small  rug,  minute  pattern. 

Shiraz  —  limp  rug,  the  sides  overcast  with  yarns  of  various 
colors. 

Tabriz  —  reddish  yellow,  the  design  sometimes  resembling  a 
baseball  diamond. 

To  extend  this  list  would  make  wearisome  reading.  Let  it 
suffice  to  indicate  that  many  oriental  rugs,  like  people,  have  marked 
facial  distinctions,  and  that  many  others  have  marked  peculiari- 
ties of  body  and  finish,  that  make  them  easy  to  recognize.  Ease 
of  nammg,  however,  ceases  with  distinct  markings,  and  rugs  that 
are  out-and-out  hybrids,  the  cross-bred  products  of  wars,  migra- 
tions, and  trade,  are  not  named,  but  attributed. 

Hybrid  oriental  rugs  —  the  bane  of  the  novice  and  the  joy  of  the 
collector  —  are  largely  an  epitome  of  the  wars  of  Asia.  Cyrus  the 
Great,  heading  a  host  of  Persians,  conquered  the  Babylonians  500 
years  before  Christ.  Of  course  the  Babylonians  became  interested 
in  Persian  rugs  and  appropriated  some  of  their  patterns.  Two 
hundred  years  later  Alexander  the  Great  invaded  Asia  and  con- 
quered it,  except  the  distant  provinces  of  India  and  China.  The 
Mohammedan  Arabs  mastered  the  Persians  in  the  East  and  the 
Spaniards  in  the  West  in  the  sixth  century.  Genghis  Khan,  out  of 
China  with  warriors  as  numerous  as  locusts,  made  a  single  nation  of 
Central  Asia  in  the  thirteenth  century;  and  Tamerlane  later  made 
subject  farther  dominions.  Even  200  years  ago  the  Afghans  con- 
quered the  Persians;  and  as  recently  as  1771,  600,000  Tartars  fled 
from  eastern  Russia  to  the  frontiers  of  China  under  conditions  to 
make  DeQuincey's  essay,  "Revolt  of  the  Tartars,"  a  contribution 
to  rug  literature. 


122  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  wonder  is  not,  therefore,  that  Chinese  patterns  are  found  in 
Turkestan,  Persian,  and  Turkish  rugs;  that  Persian  patterns  are 
found  in  Indian,  Caucasian  and  Turkish  rugs;  that  Turkish- 
Mohammedan  patterns  reach  from  Spain  to  China;  and  that 
European  designs  are  found  wherever  oriental  invention  bent  the 
knee  to  imitation.  The  wonder  is  rather  that  there  are  so  many 
oriental  rugs  with  distinct  or  fairly  constant  characteristics.^ 

She  was  at  once  the  daughter  of  Henry  and  of  Anne  Boleyn. 
From  her  father  she  inherited  her  frank  and  hearty  address,  her 
love  of  popularity  and  of  free  intercourse  with  the  people,  her 
dauntless  courage  and  her  amazing  self-confidence.  Her  harsh, 
manlike  voice,  her  impetuous  will,  her  pride,  her  furious  out- 
bursts of  anger,  came  to  her  with  her  Tudor  blood.  She  rated 
great  nobles  as  if  they  were  school -boys;  she  met  the  insolence  of 
Essex  with  a  box  on  the  ear;  she  would  break  now  and  then  into 
the  gravest  deliberations  to  swear  at  her  mmisters  like  a  fishwife. 
But  strangely  in  contrast  with  the  violent  outlines  of  her  Tudor 
temper  stood  the  sensuous,  self-indulgent  nature  she  derived  from 
Anne  Boleyn.  Splendour  and  pleasure  were  with  Elizabeth  the 
very  air  she  breathed.  Her  delight  was  to  move  in  perpetual  prog- 
resses from  castle  to  castle  through  a  series  of  gorgeous  pageants, 
fanciful  and  extravagant  as  a  caliph's  dream.  She  loved  gaiety 
and  laughter  and  wit.  A  happy  retort  or  a  finished  compliment 
never  failed  to  win  her  favour.  She  hoarded  jewels.  Her  dresses 
were  innumerable.  Her  vanity  remained,  even  to  old  age,  the 
vanity  of  a  coquette  in  her  teens.  No  adulation  was  too  fulsome 
for  her,  no  flattery  of  her  beauty  too  gross.  "To  see  her  was 
Heaven,"  Hatton  told  her,  "the  lack  of  her  was  hell."  She  would 
play  with  her  rings  that  her  courtiers  might  note  the  delicacy  of 
her  hands;  or  dance  a  coranto  that  the  French  Ambassador,  hidden 
dexterously  behind  a  curtain,  might  report  her  sprightliness  to  his 
master.  Her  levity,  her  frivolous  laughter,  her  unwomanly  jests, 
gave  colour  to  a  thousand  scandals.  Her  character,  in  fact,  like  her 
portrait,  was  utterly  without  shade.  Of  womanly  reserve  or  self- 
restraint  she  knew  nothing.     No  instinct  of  delicacy  veiled  the 

1  Arthur  U.  Dilley:  "Oriental  Rugs,"  in  The  New  Country  Life,  November,  1917.  By 
courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. 


ANALYSIS  123 

voluptuous  temper  which  had  broken  out  in  the  romps  of  her  girl- 
hood and  showed  itself  almost  ostentatiously  throughout  her  later 
life.  Personal  beauty  in  a  man  was  a  sure  passport  to  her  liking. 
She  patted  handsome  young  squires  on  the  neck  when  they  knelt 
to  kiss  her  hand,  and  fondled  her  "sweet  Robin,"  Lord  Leicester, 
in  the  face  of  the  court.  ^ 

Infonnal  Analysis 

The  formal  analyses  are  in  general  far  less  frequent  than 
the  informal,  which  are  found  constantly  in  the  weekly  and 
monthly  magazines  and  in  the  editorials  of  our  daily  papers. 
These  analyses  aim  at  giving  the  core  of  the  subject,  the  gist 
of  the  matter,  with  sufficient  important  facts  or  points  as 
background.  Thus  you  will  read  an  account  of  our  rela- 
tions with  Mexico  during  the  revolution  in  that  country. 
Not  everything  is  said;  only  the  vital  things.  A  study  of 
the  character  of  Mr.  Roosevelt  or  of  Mr.  Wilson,  an  article 
explaining  the  problems  that  had  to  be  faced  in  the  building 
of  the  Keokuk  or  the  Shoshone  dams,  a  treatment  of  the 
question  of  conscription  in  England  —  these  and  thousands 
of  others  flood  upon  us  with  the  object  of  illuminating  our 
approach  to  the  subject,  of  interpreting  for  us  the  heart  of 
the  matter.  Mr.  More,  in  the  essay  already  mentioned, 
says  little  about  Tennyson's  verse  form,  about  his  zeal  for 
the  tale  of  Arthur,  about  the  influence  upon  him  of  the 
classics  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Into  a  complete  treatise 
these  would  of  course  enter;  here  Mr.  More's  object  is  not 
all-inclusiveness,  as  one  should  examine  the  Pyramids  for 
not  only  their  plan  and  size  but  also  for  their  minute  finish, 
their  varying  materials,  their  methods  of  jointure,  and  the 
thousand  other  details;  rather  he  estimates  what  his  subject 
is,  as  one  should  journey  round  the  Pyramids,  view  them  in 
general,  find  their  significance,  and  discover  the  few  essen- 
tials that  make  them  not  cathedrals,  not  Roman  circuses, 

>  J.  E.  Green:  Short  History  of  the  English  People. 


124  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

but  Pyramids.     In  other  words,  interpretation  is  the  object 
rather  than  completeness  of  fact. 

Obviously  an  informal  analysis  must  be  complete  as  far 
as  it  goes,  must  be  complete  for  its  author's  purpose,  is  not 
good  writing  if  it  gives  only  a  partial  interpretation  which 
gets  nowhere.  It  is  at  once  apparent,  then,  that  tlie  con- 
trolling purpose  which  has  been  discussed  at  length  in  an 
earlier  chapter  is  in  informal  analysis  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance. Only  as  it  is  clearly  held  in  mind  will  the  author 
know  when  to  stop,  what  to  choose.  In  formal  analysis, 
where  his  object  is  to  say  all  that  there  is  to  say,  he  chooses 
and  ceases  to  choose  by  the  standard  of  completeness  of 
fact;  in  informal  analysis  he  must  choose  and  cease  to  choose 
by  the  standard  of  whether  he  has  accomplished  the  desired 
effect,  made  the  desired  interpretation.  His  analysis,  there- 
fore, is  valuable  only  when  he  has  chosen  the  proper  inter- 
pretation and  has  made  it  effective  and  clear.  If  he 
wishes  to  analyze  a  period  of  history  for  the  purpose  of 
showing  the  romance  of  the  period,  he  will  choose  and 
cease  to  choose  largely  in  so  far  as  his  material  helps  to 
establish  the  romance,  and  he  will  not  hesitate  to  neglect 
many  a  fact  that  would  be  otherwise  important.  In  the 
following  selection  from  George  Eliot's  Mill  on  the  Floss 
you  will  find  an  analysis  of  the  effect  of  the  Rhone  scenery 
on  the  author  written  purposely  with  the  intention  of  driv- 
ing home  the  dreariness  of  the  subject,  and  therefore  with 
material  chosen  for  that  end: 

Journeying  down  the  Rhone  on  a  summer's  day,  you  have  per- 
haps felt  the  sunshine  made  dreary  by  those  ruined  villages  which 
stud  the  banks  in  certain  parts  of  its  course,  telling  how  the  swift 
river  once  rose,  like  an  angry,  destroying  god,  sweeping  down  the 
feeble  generations  whose  breath  is  in  their  nostrils,  and  making 
their  dwellings  a  desolation.  Strange  contrast,  you  may  have 
thought,  between  the  effect  produced  on  us  by  these  dismal  rem- 
nants of  commonplace  houses,  which  in  their  best  days  were  but 


ANALYSIS  125 

the  sign  of  a  sordid  life,  belonging  in  all  its  details  to  our  own  vulgar 
era;  and  the  effect  produced  by  those  ruins  on  the  castled  Rhine, 
which  have  crumbled  and  mellowed  into  such  harmony  with  the 
green  and  rocky  steeps,  that  they  seem  to  have  a  natural  fitness, 
like  the  mountain-pine;  nay,  even  in  the  day  when  they  were  built 
they  must  have  had  this  fitness,  as  if  they  had  been  raised  by  an 
earth-born  race,  who  had  inherited  from  their  mighty  parent  a 
sublime  instinct  of  form.  And  that  was  a  day  of  romance!  If 
these  robber  barons  were  somewhat  grim  and  drunken  ogres,  they 
had  a  certain  grandeur  of  the  wild  beast  in  them  —  they  were  forest 
boars  with  tusks,  tearing  and  rending:  not  the  ordinary  domestic 
grunter;  they  represented  the  demon  forces  forever  in  collision 
with  beauty,  virtue,  and  the  gentle  uses  of  life;  they  made  a  fine 
contrast  in  the  picture  with  the  wandering  minstrel,  the  soft-lipped 
princess,  the  pious  recluse,  and  the  timid  Israelite.  That  was  a 
time  of  color,  when  the  sunlight  fell  on  glancing  steel  and  floating 
banners;  a  time  of  adventure  and  fierce  struggle  —  nay,  of  living, 
religious  art  and  religious  enthusiasm;  for  were  not  cathedrals  built 
in  those  days,  and  did  not  great  emperors  leave  their  Western  pal- 
aces to  die  before  the  infidel  strongholds  in  the  sacred  East? 
Therefore  it  is  that  these  Rhine  castles  thrill  me  with  a  sense  of 
poetry :  they  belong  to  the  grand  historic  life  of  humanity,  and  raise 
up  for  me  the  vision  of  an  epoch.  But  these  dead-tinted,  hollow- 
eyed,  angular  skeletons  of  villages  on  the  Rhone  oppress  me  with 
the  feelmg  that  human  life  —  very  much  of  it  —  is  a  narrow,  ugly, 
grovelling  existence,  which  even  calamity  does  not  elevate,  but 
rather  tends  to  exhibit  in  all  its  bare  vulgarity  of  conception;  and 
I  have  a  cruel  conviction  that  the  lives  these  ruins  are  the  traces  of 
were  part  of  a  gross  sum  of  obscure  vitality,  that  will  be  swept  into 
the  same  oblivion  with  the  generations  of  ants  and  beavers.^ 

Informal  analysis  is  not  only  less  complete,  but  also  less 
strict  in  adherence  to  pure  analysis  alone.  It  employs 
whatever  is  of  value,  believing  that  the  material,  the  mes- 
sage, is  greater  than  the  form.  Outside  really  formal 
analysis,  which  is  likely  to  be  fairly  dull  to  all  except  those 
who  are  eager  for  the  particular  information  given,  most 

•  George  Eliot:  Mill  on  the  Floss.    Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Boston,  publishers. 


126  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

analytical  articles  make  free  use  of  definition  whenever  it 
will  serve  well  to  aid  the  reader's  understanding  or  to  move 
his  emotions  toward  a  desired  goal;  of  description  if  it,  like 
definition,  proves  of  value;  even  of  anecdote  and  argument 
if  these  forms  are  the  fittest  instruments  for  the  fight.  Thus 
Hawthorne,  analyzing  English  weather,  does  not  hesitate 
to  dress  out  his  analysis  in  the  charms  of  personal  experience 
and  anecdote  and  description,  which  in  no  way  obscure  the 
facts  of  the  weather,  but  merely  take  away  the  baldness  of 
a  formal  statement  and  add  the  relish  of  actual  life. 

One  chief  condition  of  my  enjoyment  was  the  weather.  Italy 
has  nothing  like  it,  nor  America.  There  never  was  such  weather 
except  in  England,  where,  in  requital  of  a  vast  amount  of  horrible 
east  wind  between  February  and  June,  and  a  brown  October  and 
black  November,  and  a  wet,  chill,  sunless  winter,  there  are  a  few 
weeks  of  incomparable  summer  scattered  through  July  and  August, 
and  the  earlier  portion  of  September,  small  in  quantity,  but  exqui- 
site enough  to  atone  for  the  whole  year's  atmospherical  delinquen- 
cies. After  all,  the  prevalent  sombreness  may  have  brought  out 
those  sunny  intervals  in  such  high  relief  that  I  see  them,  in  my 
recollection,  brighter  than  they  really  were:  a  little  light  makes  a 
glory  for  people  who  live  habitually  in  a  gray  gloom.  The  English, 
however,  do  not  seem  to  know  how  enjoyable  the  momentary 
gleams  of  their  summer  are;  they  call  it  broiling  weather,  and 
hurry  to  the  seaside  with  red,  perspiring  faces,  in  a  state  of  combus- 
tion and  deliquescence;  and  I  have  observed  that  even  their  cattle 
have  similar  susceptibilities,  seeking  the  deepest  shade,  or  standing 
midleg  deep  in  pools  and  streams  to  cool  themselves,  at  tempera- 
tures which  our  own  cows  would  deem  little  more  than  barely  com- 
fortable. To  myself,  after  the  summer  heats  of  my  native  land 
had  somewhat  effervesced  out  of  my  blood  and  memory,  it  was  the 
weather  of  Paradise  itself.  It  might  be  a  little  too  warm;  but  it 
was  that  modest  and  inestimable  superabundance  which  consti- 
tutes a  bounty  of  Providence,  instead  of  just  a  niggardly  enough. 
During  my  first  year  in  England,  residing  in  perhaps  the  most  un- 
genial  part  of  the  kingdom,  I  could  never  be  quite  comfortable 


ANALYSIS  127 

without  a  fire  on  the  hearth;  in  the  second  twelvemonth,  beginning 
to  get  acclimatized,  I  became  sensible  of  an  austere  friendliness, 
shy,  but  sometimes  almost  tender,  m  the  veiled,  shadowy,  seldom 
smiling  summer;  and  in  the  succeeding  years,  —  whether  that  I 
had  renewed  my  fibre  with  English  beef  and  replenished  my  blood 
with  English  ale,  or  whatever  were  the  cause,  —  I  grew  content 
with  winter  and  especially  in  love  with  summer,  desiring  little  more 
for  happiness  than  merely  to  breathe  and  bask.  At  the  midsum- 
mer which  we  are  now  speaking  of,  I  must  needs  confess  that  the 
noontide  sun  came  down  more  fervently  than  I  found  altogether 
tolerable;  so  that  I  was  fain  to  shift  my  position  with  the  shadow 
of  the  shrubbery,  making  myself  a  movable  index  of  a  sundial  that 
reckoned  up  the  hours  of  an  almost  interminable  day. 

For  each  day  seemed  endless,  though  never  wearisome.  As  far 
as  your  actual  experience  is  concerned,  the  English  summer  day 
has  positively  no  beginning  and  no  end.  When  you  awake,  at  any 
reasonable  hour,  the  sun  is  already  shining  through  the  curtains; 
you  live  through  unnumbered  hours  of  Sabbath  quietude,  with  a 
calm  variety  of  incident  softly  etched  upon  their  tranquil  lapse; 
and  at  length  you  become  conscious  that  it  is  bedtime  again,  while 
there  is  still  enough  daylight  in  the  sky  to  make  the  pages  of  your 
book  distinctly  legible.  Night,  if  there  be  any  such  season,  hangs 
down  a  transparent  veil  through  which  the  bygone  day  beholds 
its  successor;  or,  if  not  quite  true  of  the  latitude  of  London,  it  may 
be  soberly  affirmed  of  the  more  northern  parts  of  the  island,  that 
To-morrow  is  born  before  its  Yesterday  is  dead.  They  exist 
together  in  the  golden  twilight,  where  the  decrepit  old  day  dimly 
discerns  the  face  of  the  ominous  infant;  and  you,  though  a  mere 
mortal,  may  simultaneously  touch  them  both  with  one  fuiger  of 
recollection  and  another  of  prophecy.  I  eared  not  how  long  the 
day  might  be,  nor  how  many  of  them.  I  had  earned  this  repose 
by  a  long  course  of  irksome  toil  and  perturbation,  and  could  have 
been  content  never  to  stray  out  of  the  limits  of  that  suburban  villa 
and  its  garden.  If  I  lacked  anything  beyond,  it  would  have  satis- 
fied me  well  enough  to  dream  about  it,  instead  of  struggling  for  its 
actual  possession.  At  least,  this  was  the  feeling  of  the  moment; 
although  the  transitory,  flittmg,  and  irresponsible  character  of  my 
life  there  was  perhaps  the  most  enjoyable  element  of  all,  as  allowing 


128  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

me  much  of  the  comfort  of  house  and  home,  without  any  sense  of 
their  weight  upon  my  back.  The  nomadic  life  has  great  advan- 
tages, if  we  can  find  tents  ready  pitched  for  us  at  every  stage.  ^ 

An  extension  of  this  willingness  to  make  grist  of  whatever 
comes  to  the  writer's  mill  lies  in  the  close  approach,  at  times, 
that  analysis  makes  to  the  informal  essay.  Of  course  the 
line  is  difficult  to  draw  —  and  perhaps  not  necessarily  drawn 
—  and  most  informal  essays  are  to  some  extent,  at  least, 
analytical.  The  more  you  desire  your  analysis  to  become 
interesting,  the  more  you  wish  to  take  hold  of  your  reader, 
the  more  you  will  make  use  of  the  close  approach  unless 
your  subject  and  its  facts  are  of  a  kind  to  repel  such  inti- 
macy. An  analysis  of  the  nebular  hypothesis  deals  with 
facts  of  so  august  a  nature,  on  so  nearly  an  unimaginable 
plane,  that  intimacy  seems  out  of  place,  impudent,  like 
levity  in  cathedrals.  But  if  you  have  such  a  subject  as 
George  Gissing  ^  chose  in  the  following  analysis  of  the  sports- 
woman's attitude  and  character,  you  may  well,  as  he  did, 
throw  aside  the  formalities  of  expression  and  at  once  make 
truce  of  intimacy  with  your  reader.  So  long  as  you  do  not 
obscure  the  facts  of  the  analysis,  make  it  unclear  or  blurred, 
so  long  you  are  safe. 

I  found  an  article,  by  a  woman,  on  "Lion  Hunting,"  and  in  this 
article  I  came  upon  a  passage  which  seemed  worth  copying: 

"As  I  woke  my  husband,  the  lion  —  which  was  then  about  forty 
yards  off  —  charged  straight  towards  us,  and  with  my  .303  I  hit 
him  full  in  the  chest,  as  we  afterwards  discovered,  tearmg  his  wind- 
pipe to  pieces  and  breaking  his  spine.  He  charged  a  second  time, 
and  the  next  shot  hit  him  through  the  shoulder,  tearing  his  heart 
to  ribbons." 

It  would  interest  me  to  look  upon  this  heroine  of  gun  and  pen. 
She  is  presumably  quite  a  young  woman;  probably,  when  at  home, 

1  Nathaniel  Hawthorne:  Our  Old  Home.  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Boston,  pub- 
lishers. 

'  George  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecrqft,  "Spring."  By  permission  of  the 
publishers,  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.,  New  York  City,  " 


ANALYSIS  129 

a  graceful  figure  in  drawing-rooms.  I  should  like  to  hear  her  talk, 
to  exchange  thoughts  with  her.  She  would  give  one  a  very  good 
idea  of  the  matron  of  old  Rome  who  had  her  seat  in  the  amphi- 
theatre. Many  of  those  ladies,  in  private  life,  must  have  been 
bright  and  gracious,  highbred  and  full  of  agreeable  sentiment;  they 
talked  of  art  and  of  letters;  they  could  drop  a  tear  over  Lesbia's 
sparrow;  at  the  same  time,  they  were  connoisseurs  in  torn  wind- 
pipes, shattered  spines,  and  viscera  rent  open.  It  is  not  likely 
that  many  of  them  would  have  cared  to  turn  their  own  hands  to 
butchery,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  must  suppose  that  our 
Lion  Huntress  of  the  popular  magazine  is  rather  an  exceptional 
dame;  but  no  doubt  she  and  the  Roman  ladies  would  get  on  well 
together,  finding  only  a  few  superficial  differences.  The  fact  that 
her  gory  reminiscences  are  welcomed  by  an  editor  with  the  popu- 
lar taste  in  view  is  perhaps  more  significant  than  appears  either  to 
editor  or  public.  Were  this  lady  to  write  a  novel  (the  chances  are 
she  will)  it  would  have  the  true  note  of  modern  vigour.  Of  course 
her  style  has  been  formed  by  her  favourite  reading;  more  than 
probably,  her  ways  of  thinking  and  feeling  owe  much  to  the  same 
source.  If  not  so  already,  this  will  soon,  I  dare  say,  be  the  typical 
Englishwoman.  Certainly,  there  is  "no  nonsense  about  her." 
Such  women  should  breed  a  terrible  race. 

Kinds  of  Informal  Analysis 
a.  Enumeration 

Informal  analysis  may  appear  in  various  forms,  not  all 
of  which  are  at  once  apparent  as  analysis  until  we  disabuse 
our  minds  of  thinking  that  analysis  must  be,  always,  com- 
plete in  facts.  For  example,  informal  analysis  often  appears 
in  the  form  of  enumeration,  in  which  the  author  "has  some 
things  to  say"  —  always  for  a  definite  purpose  —  and  says 
them  in  some  reasonable  order.  Thus  Mr.  Herbert  Croly, 
in  his  article  "Lincoln  as  More  than  American,"  analyzes 
Lincoln's  character  as  related  to  the  characters  of  other 
Americans  through  the  qualities  of  intellectuality,  human- 
ness,  magnanimity,  and  humihty.    More  might  be  said ;  the 


130  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

analysis  is  not  complete  in  fact,  but  it  serves  the  purpose  of 
the  author.  It  is  distinctly  in  the  enumerative  order,  the 
progression  being  determined  by  the  controlling  purpose  of 
delineating  Lincoln  as  worthy  of  not  only  respect  but  even 
true  awe,  the  awe  that  we  give  only  to  those  great  souls  who, 
in  spite  of  all  their  mental  supremacy,  are  yet  beautifully 
humble. 

b.  Equation 

Informal  analysis  often  appears  in  the  form  of  equation: 
the  subject  of  analysis  is  stated  as  equal  to  something  else 
—  a  quality,  an  instrument  from  another  field  of  human 
knowledge,  the  same  thing  in  other  more  common  or  well- 
known  words.  For  example,  William  James,  in  his  essay 
"The  Social  Value  of  the  College  Bred,"  first  states  that  the 
value  of  a  college  education  is  "  to  help  you  to  know  a  good 
man  when  you  see  him,"  and  then  explains  what  he  means 
by  this  phrase.  This  form  of  analysis,  then,  is  usually  in 
the  nature  of  a  double  equation:  x  is  equal  to  y,  which,  in 
turn,  can  be  split  up  into  a,  b,  c.  The  method  really  consists 
in  arriving  at  an  easily  comprehended  statement  of  the 
significance  of  the  subject  through  the  medium  of  a  more 
immediately  workable  or  attractive  or  simple  synonymous 
statement.  It  is  an  application  of  the  old  formula  of  going 
from  the  known  to  the  unknown,  except  that  in  this  case 
we  proceed  from  the  unknown  to  the  known  and  then  return 
to  the  unknown  with  increased  light. 

c.  Statement  of  Significance 

A  third  form  of  informal  analysis  is  the  showing  of  the 
significance  of  the  subject,  its  root  meaning.  In  this  case 
the  writer  attempts  not  so  much  to  break  the  subject  into 
its  obvious  parts  as  to  set  before  the  reader  the  meaning  of 
it  as  a  whole,  in  so  short  a  compass,  often,  that  it  will  not 
need  further  explanation,  or  if  it  does,  that  it  may  be  then 


ANALYSIS  131 

divided  after  the  statement  in  easier  form  has  been  made. 
The  following  explanation  of  the  philosophy  of  Nietzsche 
illustrates  this  form  of  analysis: 

The  central  motive  of  Nietzsche  seems  to  me  to  be  this.  It  is 
clear  to  him  that  the  moral  problem  concerns  the  perfection,  not 
of  society,  not  of  the  masses  of  men,  but  of  the  great  individual. 
And  so  far  he,  indeed,  stands  where  the  standard  of  individualistic 
revolt  has  so  often  been  raised.  But  Nietzsche  differs  from  other 
individualists  in  that  the  great  object  toward  which  his  struggle  is 
directed  is  the  discovery  of  what  his  own  individuality  itself  means 
and  is.  A  Titan  of  the  type  of  Goethe's  or  Shelley's  Prometheus 
proclaims  his  right  to  be  free  of  Zeus  and  of  all  other  powers.  But 
by  hypothesis  Prometheus  already  knows  who  he  is  and  what  he 
wants.  But  the  problem  of  Nietzsche  is,  above  all,  the  problem. 
Who  am  I,  and.  What  do  I  want.'*  What  is  clear  to  him  is  tlie 
need  of  strenuous  activity  in  pressing  on  toward  the  solution  of 
this  problem.  His  aristocratic  consciousness  is  the  sense  that 
common  men  are  in  no  wise  capable  of  putting  or  of  appreciating 
this  question.  His  assertion  of  the  right  of  the  individual  to  be 
free  from  all  external  restraints  is  the  ardent  revolt  of  the  strenuous 
seeker  for  selfhood  against  whatever  hinders  him  in  this  task.  He 
will  not  be  interrupted  by  the  base  universe  in  the  business  —  his 
life-business  —  of  finding  out  what  his  own  life  is  to  mean  for  him- 
self. He  knows  that  his  own  will  is,  above  all,  what  he  calls  the 
will  for  power.  On  occasion  he  does  not  hesitate  to  use  this  power 
to  crush,  at  least  in  ideal,  whoever  shall  hinder  him  in  his  work. 
But  the  problem  over  which  he  agonizes  is  the  inner  problem. 
What  does  this  will  that  seeks  power  genuinely  desire.''  What  is 
the  power  that  is  worthy  to  be  mine?  ^ 

d.  Relationship 

"TV  a  fourth  class  of  informal  analytical  writing  is  the  show- 
ing  the  relationship  that  exists  between  two  ideas  or  things, 
as  cause  and  effect,  as  source  and  termination,  as  contrary 
forces,  or  as  any  relation  that  has  real  existence.     Under 

•  Josiah  Royce:  Nietzsche.  By  courtesy  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly  Company. 


132  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

this  heading  will  be  found  the  large  group  of  articles  that  an- 
swer the  question  ichy  ?,  as  for  example,  "  Why  the  Quebec 
Bridge  Collapsed,"  "Causes  of  the  Strike  among  the  Gar- 
ment Workers,"  "Popular  Opinion  as  Affecting  Govern- 
ment Action,"  and  other  such  subjects.  In  the  following 
analysis  of  the  relation  existing  between  human  action  as 
result,  and  impulse  and  desire  as  causes,  you  will  find  such 
an  informal  presentation  of  material. 

All  human  activity  springs  from  two  sources:  impulse  and  desire. 
The  part  played  by  desire  has  always  been  sufficiently  recognized. 
When  men  find  themselves  not  fully  contented,  and  not  able  in- 
stantly to  procure  what  will  cause  content,  imagination  brings 
before  their  minds  the  thought  of  things  which  they  believe  would 
make  them  happy.  All  desire  involves  an  interval  of  time  between 
the  consciousness  of  a  need  and  the  opportunity  for  satisfying  it. 
The  acts  inspired  by  desire  may  in  themselves  be  painful,  the  time 
before  satisfaction  can  be  achieved  may  be  very  long,  the  object 
desired  may  be  something  outside  our  own  lives,  and  even  after 
our  own  death.  Will,  as  a  directing  force,  consists  mainly  in  fol- 
lowing desires  for  more  or  less  distant  objects,  in  spite  of  the  pain- 
fulness  of  the  acts  involved  and  the  solicitations  of  incompatible 
but  more  immediate  desires  and  impulses.  All  this  is  familiar, 
and  political  philosophy  hitherto  has  been  almost  entirely  based 
upon  desire  as  the  source  of  human  actions. 

But  desire  governs  no  more  than  a  part  of  human  activity,  and 
that  not  the  most  important  but  only  the  more  conscious,  explicit, 
and  civilized  part. 

In  all  the  more  instinctive  part  of  our  nature  we  are  dominated 
by  impulses  to  certain  kinds  of  activity,  not  by  desires  for  certain 
ends.  Children  run  and  shout,  not  because  of  any  good  which 
they  expect  to  realize,  but  because  of  a  direct  impulse  to  running 
and  shouting.  Dogs  bay  the  moon,  not  because  they  consider 
that  it  is  to  their  advantage  to  do  so,  but  because  they  feel  an 
impulse  to  bark.  It  is  not  any  purpose,  but  merely  an  impulse, 
that  prompts  such  actions,  as  eating,  drinking,  love-making,  quar- 
relling, boasting.  Those  who  believe  that  man  is  a  rational  animal 
will  say  that  people  boast  in  order  that  others  may  have  a  good 


ANALYSIS  133 

opinion  of  them;  but  most  of  us  can  recall  occasions  when  we  have 
boasted  in  spite  of  knowing  that  we  should  be  despised  for  it. 
Instinctive  acts  normally  achieve  some  result  which  is  agreeable 
to  the  natural  man,  but  they  are  not  performed  from  desire  for 
this  result.  They  are  performed  from  direct  impulse,  and  the 
impulse  often  is  strong  even  in  cases  m  which  the  normal  desirable 
result  cannot  follow.  Grown  men  like  to  imagine  themselves  more 
rational  than  children  and  dogs,  and  unconsciously  conceal  from 
themselves  how  great  a  part  impulse  plays  in  their  lives.  This 
unconscious  concealment  always  follows  a  certain  general  plan. 
"When  an  impulse  is  not  indulged  in  the  moment  in  which  it  arises, 
there  grows  up  a  desire  for  the  expected  consequences  of  indulging 
the  impulse.  If  some  of  the  consequences  which  are  reasonably 
to  be  expected  are  clearly  disagreeable,  a  conflict  between  foresight, 
and  impulse  arises.  If  the  impulse  is  weak,  foresight  may  conquer; 
this  is  what  is  called  acting  on  reason.  If  the  impulse  is  strong, 
either  foresight  will  be  falsified,  and  the  disagreeable  consequences 
will  be  forgotten,  or,  in  men  of  heroic  mold,  the  consequences  may 
be  recklessly  accepted.  When  Macbeth  realizes  that  he  is  doomed 
to  defeat,  he  does  not  shrink  from  the  fight;  he  exclaims:  — 

Lay  on,  MacdufiF, 
And  damned  be  he  that  first  cries.  Hold,  enough! 

But  such  strength  and  recklessness  of  impulse  is  rare.  Most 
men,  when  their  impulse  is  strong,  succeed  in  persuading  them- 
selves, usually  by  a  subconscious  selectiveness  of  attention,  that 
agreeable  consequences  will  follow  from  indulgence  of  their  impulse. 
Whole  philosophies,  whole  systems  of  ethical  valuation,  spring  up 
in  this  way;  they  are  the  embodiment  of  a  kind  of  thought  which  is 
subservient  to  impulse,  which  aims  at  providing  a  quasi-rational 
ground  for  the  indulgence  of  impulse.  The  only  thought  which 
is  genuine  is  that  which  springs  out  of  the  intellectual  impulse  of 
curiosity,  leading  to  the  desire  to  know  and  understand.  But  most 
of  what  passes  for  thought  is  inspired  by  some  non-intellectual 
impulse,  and  is  merely  a  means  of  persuading  ourselves  that  we 
shall  not  be  disappointed  or  do  harm  if  we  indulge  this  impulse. 

When  an  impulse  is  restrained,  we  feel  discomfort,  or  even  vio- 
lent pain.     We  may  indulge  the  impulse  in  order  to  escape  from 


134  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

this  pain,  and  our  action  is  then  one  which  has  a  purpose.  But 
the  pain  only  exists  because  of  the  impulse,  and  the  impulse  itself 
is  directed  to  an  act,  not  to  escaping  from  the  pain  of  restraining 
the  impulse.  The  impulse  itself  remains  without  a  purpose,  and 
the  purpose  of  escaping  from  pain  only  arises  when  the  impulse 
has  been  momentarily  restrained. 

Impulse  is  at  the  basis  of  our  activity,  much  more  than  desire. 
Desire  has  its  place,  but  not  so  large  a  place  as  it  is  seemed  to  have. 
Impulses  bring  with  them  a  whole  train  of  subservient  fictitious 
desires :  they  make  men  feel  that  they  desire  the  results  which  will 
follow  from  indulging  the  impulses,  and  that  they  are  acting  for 
the  sake  of  these  results,  when  in  fact  their  action  has  no  motive 
outside  itself.  A  man  may  write  a  book  or  paint  a  picture  imder 
the  belief  that  he  desires  the  praise  which  it  will  bring  him;  but  as 
soon  as  it  is  finished,  if  his  creative  impulse  is  not  exhausted,  what 
he  has  done  grows  uninteresting  to  him,  and  he  begins  a  new  piece 
of  work.  What  applies  to  artistic  creation  applies  equally  to  all 
that  is  most  vital  in  our  lives :  direct  impulse  is  what  moves  us,  and 
the  desires  which  we  thuik  we  have  are  a  mere  garment  for  the 
impulse. 

Desire,  as  opposed  to  impulse,  has,  it  is  true,  a  large  and  in- 
creasing share  in  the  regulation  of  men's  lives.  Impulse  is  erratic 
and  anarchical,  not  easily  fitted  into  a  well-regulated  system;  it 
may  be  tolerated  in  children  and  artists,  but  it  is  not  thought  proper 
to  men  who  hope  to  be  taken  seriously.  Almost  all  paid  work  is 
done  from  desire,  not  from  impulse :  the  work  itself  is  more  or  less 
irksome,  but  the  payment  for  it  is  desired.  The  serious  activities 
that  fill  a  man's  working  hours  are,  except  in  a  few  fortunate  indi- 
viduals, governed  mainly  by  purposes,  not  by  impulses  toward 
these  activities.  In  this  hardly  any  one  sees  an  evil,  because  the 
place  of  impulse  in  a  satisfactory  existence  is  not  recognized. 

An  impulse,  to  one  who  does  not  share  it  actually  or  imagina- 
tively, will  always  seem  to  be  mad.  All  impulse  is  essentially 
blind,  in  the  sense  that  it  does  not  spring  from  any  prevision  of 
consequences.  The  man  who  does  not  share  the  impulse  will  form 
a  different  estimate  as  to  what  the  consequences  will  be,  and  as  to 
whether  those  that  must  ensue  are  desirable.  This  difference  of 
opinion  will  seem  to  be  ethical  or  intellectual,  whereas  its  real  basis 


ANALYSIS  135 

is  a  difference  of  impulse.  No  genuine  agreement  will  be  reached, 
in  such  a  case,  so  long  as  the  difference  of  impulse  persists.  In 
all  men  who  have  any  vigorous  life,  there  are  strong  impulses  such 
as  may  seem  utterly  unreasonable  to  others.  Blind  impulses  some- 
times lead  to  destruction  and  death,  but  at  other  times  they  lead 
to  the  best  things  the  world  contains.  Blind  impulse  is  the  source 
of  war,  but  it  is  also  the  source  of  science,  and  art,  and  love.  It  is 
not  the  weakening  of  impulse  that  is  to  be  desired,  but  the  direction 
of  impulse  toward  life  and  growth  rather  than  toward  death  and 
decay. 

The  complete  control  of  impulse  by  will,  which  is  sometimes 
preached  by  moralists,  and  often  enforced  by  economic  necessity, 
is  not  really  desirable.  A  life  governed  by  purposes  and  desires, 
to  the  exclusion  of  impulses,  is  a  tiring  life;  it  exhausts  vitality, 
and  leaves  a  man,  in  the  end,  indifferent  to  the  very  purposes  which 
he  has  been  trying  to  achieve.  When  a  whole  nation  lives  in  this 
way,  the  whole  nation  tends  to  become  feeble,  without  enough 
grasp  to  recognize  and  overcome  the  obstacles  to  its  desires.  In- 
dustrialism and  organization  are  constantly  forcing  civilized  nations 
to  live  more  and  more  by  purpose  rather  than  impulse.  In  the 
long  run  such  a  mode  of  existence,  if  it  does  not  dry  up  the  springs 
of  life,  produces  new  impulse,  not  of  the  kind  which  the  will  has 
been  in  the  habit  of  controlling  or  of  which  thought  is  conscious. 
These  new  impulses  are  apt  to  be  worse  in  their  effects  than  those 
which  have  been  checked.  Excessive  discipline,  especially  when 
it  has  been  imposed  from  without,  often  issues  in  impulses  of  cru- 
elty and  destruction;  this  is  one  reason  why  militarism  has  a  bad 
effect  on  national  character.  Either  lack  of  vitality,  or  impulses 
which  are  oppressive  and  against  life,  will  almost  always  result  if 
the  spontaneous  impulses  are  not  able  to  find  an  outlet.  A  man's 
impulses  are  not  fixed  from  the  beginning  by  his  native  disposition  : 
within  certain  wide  limits,  they  are  profoundly  modified  by  his 
circumstances  and  his  way  of  life.  The  nature  of  these  modifica- 
tions ought  to  be  studied,  and  the  results  of  such  study  ought  to  be 
taken  account  of  in  judging  the  good  or  harm  that  is  done  by 
political  and  social  institutions.^ 

»  Bertrand  Russell:  Why  Men  Fight.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers.  The  Century  Com- 
pany, New  York  City. 


136  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

e.  Statement  of  a  Problem 

A  fifth  form  in  which  analysis  often  appears  is  as  a  state- 
ment of  a  problem.  An  engineer  who  is  asked  by  a  city 
to  investigate  the  conditions  that  confront  the  municipality 
as  regards  water  supply  will  have  such  a  problem  to  state. 
The  statement  will  presumably  consist  of  several  divisions. 
First  of  all,  of  course  —  and  this  will  be  essential  in  all  such 
statements  —  will  be  an  analysis  of  the  conditions  them- 
selves. In  this  particular  case  he  will  find  out  how  much 
water  is  needed,  how  great  the  present  supply  is,  what 
sources  are  available  for  increased  supply,  what  the  charac- 
ter of  the  water  in  these  other  sources  is,  and  anything  else 
that  may  be  of  value  to  the  city.  If  any  former  attempts 
at  solution  have  been  made,  he  may  mention  them.  If  he 
is  asked  to  recommend  a  plan  of  procedure,  he  will  make 
an  analysis  of  the  details  of  this  plan  and  will  present  them. 

Now  obviously  the  nature  of  the  audience  will  determine 
somewhat  the  manner  of  approach  to  the  conditions.  If, 
for  example,  the  problem  is  to  be  stated  to  the  financial 
committee  of  the  city,  the  angle  of  approach  will  be  that  of 
cost;  if  to  a  prospective  constructing  engineer,  from  that  of 
difficulties  of  construction  of  reservoirs  or  from  that  of  avail- 
ability of  sources.  If  you  are  to  state  the  problem  of  lessen- 
ing the  illiteracy  in  a  given  neighborhood,  you  will  approach 
the  subject  for  the  school  committee  from  the  angle,  perhaps, 
of  the  establishment  of  night  schools,  or  from  that  of  the 
necessary  welding  of  nationalities;  for  the  charitable  socie- 
ties from  that  of  the  poverty  that  compels  child  labor  in 
the  community.  And  in  the  recommendations  for  meeting 
the  conditions,  if  such  recommendations  are  made,  attention 
must  be  paid  to  the  particular  people  who  will  read  the 
analysis.  Of  course  if  you  make  an  abstract,  complete  sur- 
vey, you  will  cover  the  ground  in  whatever  way  seenis  most 
suitable. 


AN.VLYSIS  137 

Such  an  analysis,  when  it  is  in  the  nature  of  a  report,  will 
presumably  be  in  brief,  tabulated  form.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  not  a  report,  the  subject  may  be  treated  more 
informally,  made  more  pleasing.  The  following  statement 
of  the  problem  of  the  development  of  power  machinery  is 
made  rather  formally  from  the  angle  of  the  constructive 
engineer  with  an  eye  also  to  the  financial  conditions. 

The  problem  of  power-machinery  development  is,  therefore, 
divisible  into  several  parts:  First,  what  processes  must  be  carried 
out  to  produce  motion  against  resistance,  from  the  energy  of  winds, 
the  water  of  the  rivers,  or  from  fuel.  Second,  what  combinations 
of  simply  formed  parts  can  be  made  to  carry  out  the  process  or 
series  of  processes.  These  two  steps  when  worked  out  will  result 
in  some  kind  of  engine,  but  it  may  not  be  a  good  engine,  for  it  may 
use  up  too  much  natural  energy  for  the  work  it  does;  some  part 
may  break  or  another  wear  too  fast;  some  part  may  have  a  form 
that  no  workman  can  make,  or  use  up  too  much  material  or  time 
in  the  making;  in  short,  while  the  engine  may  work,  it  may  be  too 
wasteful,  or  do  its  work  at  too  great  a  cost  of  coal  or  water,  attend- 
ance in  operation,  or  investment,  or  all  these  together.  There 
must,  therefore,  be  added  several  other  elements  to  the  problem, 
as  follows :  Third,  how  many  ways  are  there  of  making  each  part, 
and  which  is  the  cheapest,  or  what  other  form  of  part  might  be 
devised  that  would  be  cheaper  to  make,  or  what  cheaper  material 
is  there  that  would  be  equally  suitable.  Fourth,  how  sensitive  to 
care  are  all  these  parts  when  in  operation,  and  how  much  attend- 
ance and  repairs  will  be  required  to  keep  the  machine  in  good 
operating  condition.  Fifth,  how  big  must  the  important  parts  of 
the  whole  machine  be  to  utilize  all  the  energy  available,  or  to  pro- 
duce the  desired  amount  of  power.  Sixth,  how  much  force  must 
each  part  of  the  mechanism  sustain,  and  how  big  must  it  be  when 
made  of  suitable  material  so  as  not  to  break.  Seventh,  how  much 
work  can  be  produced  by  the  process  for  each  unit  of  energy  sup- 
plied.^ 

'  Charles  E.  Lucke:  Power.     By  courtesy  of  the   publishers,  the  Columbia  University 
Press. 


138  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

Principles  of  Analysis 

The  problem  that  confronts  you,  then,  in  either  kind  of 
analysis,  however  formal  or  informal  it  may  be,  is,  How 
shall  I  go  to  work?  The  first  necessity  is  the  choosing  of  a 
basis  for  division  of  the  subject,  whether  it  be  in  classifica- 
tion or  partition.  The  necessity  for  this  arises  from  the 
demand  of  the  human  mind  for  logical  consistency.  Life 
seems  often  wildly  inconsistent,  but  we  demand  that  expla- 
nation of  it  or  any  phase  of  it  be  arranged  according  to  what 
seems  to  us  some  logical  law  of  progression,  some  consistent 
point  of  view.  And  in  truth  without  some  such  law  or  basis 
the  mind  soon  becomes  hopelessly  enmeshed  and  bewildered. 
I  cannot  expect  my  reader  to  understand  my  treatise  on 
locomotive  engines,  my  classification  of  them,  if  I  regard 
them  now  as  engines  of  speed,  now  as  means  of  conveyance, 
now  as  potential  destroyers  of  life,  and  now  as  instruments 
whereby  capitalists  become  rich  and  workmen  become  poor. 
As  often  as  I  change  my  point  of  view,  so  often  I  shall  be 
under  the  necessity  of  making  a  new  arrangement  of  the 
engines,  a  new  alignment.  It  is  like  skimming  past  a  corn- 
field with  the  platoons  of  green  spears  constantly  shifting 
their  number,  their  direction,  and  their  general  appearance. 
If  I  station  myself  at  one  point,  I  can  soon  make  reasonable 
estimates,  but  so  long  as  I  whirl  from  point  to  point  my  esti- 
mate must  whirl  likewise  and  I  shall  be  confused  rather  than 
helped.  If,  then,  you  are  to  analyze,  say,  our  present-day 
domestic  architecture,  it  is  not  enough  to  heap  together 
everything  that  occurs  to  you  about  houses:  their  size, 
material,  color,  arrangement,  finish,  beauty,  convenience, 
situation  as  regards  sidewalks,  their  heating  and  upkeep. 
To  prevent  your  reader  from  becoming  hopelessly  muddled, 
from  seeming  to  deal  with  the  valley  of  the  unorganized  dry 
bones  of  fact,  you  must  have  some  guiding  principle,  some 
basis,  some  point  of  view.     Suppose  that  you  take  beauty 


ANALYSIS  139 

as  your  basis.  Then  at  once  you  have  a  standard  by  which 
you  can  judge  all  houses,  to  which  you  can  relate  questions 
of  position,  arrangement,  convenience,  lighting,  heating,  etc. 
Each  of  these  questions  is  now  significant  as  affecting  the 
cause  of  beauty.  You  could,  of  course,  choose  convenience 
as  your  basis,  to  which,  then,  beauty  would  be  subordinate 
as  contributing  or  opposing.  Asked  to  analyze  the  archi- 
tecture of  a  railroad  terminal,  you  will  not  do  well  to  plant 
dynamite  under  it  and  make  an  architectural  rummage  sale 
of  its  parts;  rather  you  will  choose,  perhaps,  serviceability 
as  your  basis,  and  will  then  examine  tracks,  offices,  waiting 
rooms,  etc.  to  see  what  the  whole  is.  No  part  will  thereby 
be  overlooked;  each  will  be  significant,  and  the  whole  will 
be  unified  by  your  single  point  of  view.  An  analysis  of 
MacDo well's  music  might  be  based  on  emotional  power;  of 
the  currency  problem  on  that  of  general  distribution;  of  uni- 
versities on  that  of  proportion  of  cultural  to  so-called  practical 
courses.  Notice,  also,  that  the  choosing  of  a  basis  of  division 
is  just  as  necessary  in  one  kind  of  analysis  as  in  another, 
that  formality  and  informality  do  not  affect  the  logic  of  the 
situation  in  the  least,  that  whatever  the  subject  or  the  pro- 
posed method  of  treatment,  you  must  be  consistent  in  your 
point  of  view,  must  make  a  pivot  round  which  the  whole 
can  turn. 

Sometimes  more  than  one  principle  will  be  necessary,  in 
a  complicated  analysis,  as  in  judging  a  route  for  a  railway 
we  saw  the  necessity  for  considering  grades,  drainage,  land- 
slides, etc.,  as  we  might  interweave  the  bases  of  cost,  beauty, 
convenience,  etc.,  but  —  like  the  reins  of  the  ten-span  circus 
horses  —  all  will  be  found  to  run  back  finally  to  the  single 
driver  —  in  the  case  of  the  railway,  practicability.  In  classi- 
fying dredges,  for  example,  we  may  use  as  basis  the  action 
of  the  machine  upon  the  bottom  of  the  body  of  water,  that 
is,  whether  the  action  is  continuous  or  intermittent;  in  this 
case  we  shall  find  four  types  of  continuous  dredges:  the 


140  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

ladder,  the  hydraulic,  the  stirring,  and  the  pneumatic;  and 
we  shall  find  two  classes  of  intermittent :  the  dipper  and  the 
grapple  dredges.  Or  we  may  divide  all  dredges  on  the  basis 
of  whether  they  are  self-propelling  or  non-propelling.  Fin- 
ally, we  may  take  as  basis  for  the  classification  the  manner 
of  disposing  of  the  excavated  materials,  in  which  case  we 
shall  find  several  groups.  In  the  following  example  we  have 
two  bases  used  for  classifying  clearing-houses.  The  use  of 
more  than  one  basis  will  depend  on  whether  we  can  by  such 
use  make  more  easily  clear  to  a  reader  the  nature  of  the 
subject  and  on  whether  different  readers  will  need  different 
angles  of  approach. 

The  clearing-houses  in  the  United  States  may  be  divided  into 
two  classes,  the  sole  function  of  the  first  of  which  consists  in 
clearing-notes,  drafts,  checks,  bills  of  exchange,  and  whatever  else 
may  be  agreed  upon;  and  the  second  of  which,  in  addition  to  exer- 
cising the  functions  of  the  class  just  mentioned,  prescribes  rules 
and  regulations  for  its  members  in  various  matters,  such  as  the 
fixing  of  uniform  rates  of  exchange,  interest  charges,  collections, 
etc. 

Clearing-houses  may  also  be  divided  into  two  classes  with 
reference  to  the  funds  used  in  the  settlement  of  balances:  First, 
those  clearing-houses  which  make  their  settlements  entirely  on 
a  cash  basis,  or,  as  stated  in  the  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court 
above  referred  to,  "  by  such  form  of  acknowledgment  or  certificate 
as  the  associated  banks  may  agree  to  use  in  their  dealings  with 
each  other  as  the  equivalent  or  representative  of  cash  " ;  and  second, 
those  clearing-houses  which  make  their  settlements  by  checks  or 
drafts  on  large  financial  centers.^ 

Sometimes,  also,  the  minor  sections  may  have  a  different 
basis  from  the  main  one,  a  different  principle  of  classifica- 
tion. For  example,  a  general  basis  for  an  analysis  of  the 
Mexican  situation  during  Mr.  Wilson's  administration  might 

1  James  G.  Cnnnon:  Clearing-TIovses.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  D.  Appleton  & 
Co.,  New  York  City.     Copyright,  1900. 


ANALYSIS  141 

be  general  icorld  progress.  This  might  cover  our  immediate 
relations  with  Mexico,  our  less  close  relations  with  South 
America,  and  our  rather  more  remote  relations  with  Europe. 
The  first  division  might  then  possibly  choose  for  its  principle 
fundamental  causes  for  inter-irritation  ;  the  second,  our  trade 
relations  with  South  America ;  and  the  third,  the  possibility 
of  trouble  through  the  Monroe  Doctrine.  All  would  unite 
under  the  one  heading  of  general  progress,  and  so  long  as 
they  were  kept  distinct  would  be  serviceable.  For  the 
uniting  into  one  main  principle  is  the  important  thing.  It 
is  by  this,  and  this  only,  that  the  reader  will  easily  receive  a 
clear  understanding  of  the  subject. 

Having  selected  this  unifying  basis,  you  must  then  be 
careful  lest  your  subdivisions  be  only  the  subject  restated  in 
other  words.  If  you  are  analyzing  a  railroad  route  for  prac- 
ticability, do  not  name  one  division  general  serviceability, 
for  you  will  merely  have  made  a  revolution  of  360  degrees 
and  be  facing  exactly  as  you  faced  before.  In  analyzing 
Scott's  works  for  humor  do  not  name  one  division  ability  to 
see  the  funny  side  of  life,  for  again  you  will  have  said  only 
that  two  equals  two.  Each  section  must  be  less  than  the 
whole. 

Even  more  caution  is  required  to  keep  the  divisions  from 
overlapping.  The  man  who  wrote  an  enthusiastic  account 
of  the  acting  of  Sir  Johnston  Forbes-Robertson  with  sub- 
headings as  follows:  (1)  emotional  power,  (2)  effect  on  audi- 
ence, (3)  intellect,  (4)  appealing  qualities,  saw  that  his  divi- 
sions —  like  a  family  of  young  kittens  —  overlapped  and 
sprawled  generally.  Wlien  he  had  selected  moving  power 
as  his  main  principle,  and  had  then  divided  the  treatment 
into  the  following  headings:  (1)  appearance,  (2)  voice,  (3) 
general  handling  of  the  situation,  (4)  effect  at  the  time, 
and  (5)  memories  of  the  performance,  he  found  that  his 
kittens  had  become  well-mannered  little  beasties  and  sat 
each  in  his  place.    The  overlapping  of  subdivisions  is  likely 


142  EXrOSITORY  WRITING 

to  occur  because  of  one  or  both  of  two  causes:  lack  of  clear 
thinking,  and  lack  of  clear  expression.  Be  sure,  then,  first 
to  cut  neatly  between  parts  in  dividing  your  apple,  and  then 
to  label  each  part  carefully  so  that  the  reader  will  not  say, 
"  Why,  three  is  just  like  two!  " 
^f  Finally,  be  sure  that  the  sum  of  your  divisions  equals  the 
whole.  This  means  that  in  logical  analysis  you  must  con- 
tinue the  process  of  dividing  until  nothing  is  left.  You 
must  follow  the  old  advice:  "Cut  into  as  small  pieces  as  pos- 
sible, and  then  cut  each  piece  several  times  smaller!"  Such 
would  be  the  process  in  analyzing  and  classifying  types  of 
cathedral  architecture;  your  work  will  not  be  complete 
until  you  have  included  all  possible  forms.  The  same 
would  hold  true  in  a  thorough  analysis  of  bridges;  all  forms 
would  demand  entrance.  Wlien  you  write  informal  or  lit- 
erary analysis,  on  the  other  hand,  since  here  the  object  is 
illumination  rather  than  exhaustion,  almost  suggestiveness 
rather  than  completeness,  choose  the  significant  vital  divi- 
sions and  let  the  rest  go.  This  does  not  mean  that  in  in- 
formal analysis  you  may  be  careless;  "any  old  thing"  is  far 
from  being  the  motto;  strict  thinking  and  shrewd  selection 
are  quite  as  necessary  as  in  formal  analysis.  The  point  is 
that  the  divisions  will  be  fewer  in  number,  as  in  an  article 
on  the  subject  of  the  failure  of  freshmen  in  the  first  semester 
your  object,  in  informal  analysis,  would  be  to  group  the 
causes,  for  the  convenience  of  the  reader,  into  a  few  general 
divisions  which  should  give  him  a  clear  idea  of  the  subject 
without  necessitating  long  and  painful  reading.  In  literary 
analysis  especially  it  is  often  well  to  express  in  one  sentence 
the  gist  of  your  thought,  as  Mr.  More  says,  "Tennyson  was 
the  Victorian  Age."  It  is  always  well  to  be  able  to  express 
this  sentence.  Of  course  care  must  be  exercised  not  to 
make  the  structure  of  the  article  too  evident  by  the  presence 
of  such  a  sentence,  but  its  judicious  use  will  help  to  unify 
the  thought  for  the  reader.     For  most  minds  analysis  is 


ANALYSIS  143 

difBcult.     Whatever  you  can  do,  therefore,  to  make  it  easy 
will  be  worth  while  in  gaining  success. 


EXERCISES 

I.  Why,  from  the  point  of  view  of  analysis,  is  it  difficult  to  select  a  list 
of  "the  greatest  ten"  living  men,  or  women?  Make  such  a  list  and 
then  examine  its  foundations.  Is  a  similar  list  of  novels  or  plays  or 
symphonies  as  difficult  to  make? 
II.  Use  any  of  the  following  sentences  as  a  nucleus  sentence  on  which  to 
build  an  informal  analysis. 

1.  The  attitude  of  scientific  efficiency  is  incompatible  with  feelings 
of  humanity. 
y^  -li-     2.  A  college  career  does  not  always  develop,  but  in  fact  often  kills, 
intellectual  integrity. 

3.  The  worst  enemy  of  the  American  Public  is  the  newspaper  that 
for  political  or  business  reasons  distorts  news. 

4.  Studies  are  the  least  valuable  of  college  activities  except  as  they 
stimulate  the  imagination. 

5.  Our  Country  is  so  large  that  a  citizen  is  really  justified,  mentally 
and  morally,  in  being  provincial. 

6.  The  study  of  literature  in  college  is,  except  for  the  person  of  no 
imagination,  deadening  to  the  spirit. 

7.  The  fifteen-  and  twenty-cent  magazine  is  a  menace  to  American 
life  in  that  its  fiction  grossly  distorts  the  facts  of  life. 

8.  The  farmer  who  wishes  to  keep  his  soil  in  good  condition  should 
use  legumes  as  increasers  of  fertility. 

9.  The  effect  of  acquisition  of  land  property  is  always  to  drive  the 
possessors  into  the  Tory  camp. 

10.  The  engineer  is  a  poet  who  expresses  himself  in  material  forms 
rather  than  words. 
III.  Make  a  formal  classification,  in  skeleton  form,  of  any  of  the  following 
subjects.  Then  determine  what  qualities  the  subject  has  that  indicate 
how  such  a  classification  can  be  made  interesting,  either  by  material 
or  treatment.  Then  write  an  analytical  theme  which  shall  thoroughly 
cover  the  skeleton  classification  and  shall  also  be  attractive.  (Com- 
pare the  classification  of  Rock  Drills  (page  115)  and  Oriental  Rugs 
(page  119)  to  note  the  difference  in  the  amount  of  interest.) 

1.  Buildin;?  materials  for  houses. 

2.  China  dinner-ware. 

3.  Forms  of  dainocratic  government. 

4.  Methods  of  irrigation  in  the  United  States. 

5.  Types  of  lyric  poetry. 

6.  Chairs. 

7.  Commercial  fertilizers. 


144  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

8.  Tractors  for  the  farm. 

9.  Contemporary  philosophies  of  Europe  and  America. 

10.  American  dances. 

11.  Elevators. 

12.  Filing  systems. 

13.  Races  of  men  in  Europe. 
1-1.  Gas  ranges. 

15.  Pianos. 

16.  Contemporary  short  stories  of  the  popular  magazines. 
Indicate,  in  any  given  subject,  how  many  possible  bases  for  classi- 
fication you  could  choose,  as,  for  example,  you  might  classify  chairs 
on  the  basis  of  comfort,  expense,  presence  of  rockers,  upholstery,  adap- 
tation to  the  human  figure,  material  for  the  seat,  shape  of  back,  etc. 

IV.   Analyze  any  of  the  following  problems,  first  without  recommendation 
of  solution,  and  second  with  recommendation  as  if  you  were  making 
a  report  to  a  committee  or  employer  or  officer. 
1.  Summer  work  for  college  students. 
- —     2.  Keeping  informed  of  world  affairs  while  doing  one's  college  work 
faithfully. 

3.  "Outside  activities"  for  college  students. 

4.  Faculty  or  non-faculty  control  of  college  politics. 

5.  Choosing  a  college  course  with  relation  to  intended  career  in  life. 

6.  Selecting  shrubbery  for  continuous  bloom  with  both  red  and  blue 
berries  in  winter. 

7.  The  mail-order  houses. 

8.  Preventing  money  panics. 

9.  Dye-manufacture  in  the  United  States. 

10.  Gaining  foreign  markets. 

11.  The  farmer  and  the  commission  merchant. 

12.  The  brand  of  floiu-  selected  for  use  in  large  hotels. 

13.  Color  photography. 

14.  Wind  pressure  in  high  buildings. 

15.  Street  pavement. 

16.  Electrification  of  railroads. 

17.  Heating  system  for  an  eight-room  house. 

18.  Choice  of  cereal  for  children  of  six,  nine,  and  eleven  —  two  boys, 
one  girl. 

19.  Lighting  the  farmhouse. 

20.  Creating  a  high  class  dairy  or  sheep  herd. 

21.  Creating  an  apple  (or  other  fruit)  orchard. 

22.  Method  of  shipping  potatoes  to  a  distant  point,  in  boxes,  barrels, 
sacks. 

23.  IJest  use  of  a  twenty-acre  farm  near  a  large  city. 

24.  Investment  of  $500.00. 

25.  Best  system  of  bookkeeping  for  the  farmer. 

26.  Kind  of  life  insurance  for  a  man  of  twenty. 


ANALYSIS  145 

27.  Location  of  a  shoe  factory  with  capital  of  $250,000.00. 

28.  Cash  system  in  a  large  general  store. 

29.  Reconciling  Shakespeare's  works  with  the  known  facts  of  his  life. 

30.  The  secret  of  Thomas  Hardy's  pessimism. 

31.  Reconciling  narrow  religious  training  with  the  increased  knowl- 
edge derived  from  college. 

32.  The  failure  of  college  courses  in  English  composition  to  produce 
geniuses. 

33.  The  creation  of  a  conscientious  political  attitude  in  a  democracy. 

34.  Selection  of  $10,000  worth  of  books  as  the  nucleus  for  a  small 
town  library. 

V.  Decide  upon  a  controlling  purpose  for  an  informal  analysis  of  any  of 
the  following  subjects,  indicate  how  you  hope  to  make  the  analysis 
interesting,  state  why  you  choose  the  basis  that  you  do  —  and  then 
write  the  theme. 

1.  Prejudices,  Flirts,  Entertainments,  Shade- trees,  Methods  of 
advertising.  Languages,  Scholastic  degrees.  Systems  of  landscape 
gardening  for  small  estates.  Migratory  song  birds  of  North 
America,  Laces. 

2.  Causes  of  the  Retirrn-to-the-Soil  movement,  Origins  of  our  dairy 
^            cattle.  Benefits  of  intensive  agriculture.  Imported  plant  diseases. 

Legumes. 

3.  Opportunities  for  the  Civil  (or  Mechanical  or  Electrical,  etc.) 
Engineer,  Difficulties  of  modern  bridge-building.  The  relation 
of  the  engineer  to  social  movements.  The  contribution  of  the 
engineer  to  intellectual  advance. 

4.  Changes  in  the  United  States  system  of  public  finance  since 
Hamilton's  time.  The  equitable  distribution  of  taxation.  The 
benefits  of  the  Federal  Reserve  Movement  in  Finance,  Forms  of 
taxation.  Systems  of  credit. 

5.  Possibilities  for  Physiological  Chemistry,  Obstacles  to  color 
photography.  The  chemistry  of  the  kitchen.  The  future  of  the 
telescope.  The  battle  against  disease  germs.  Theories  of  the  atom. 
Heredity  in  plants  or  animals.  Edible  fresh-water  fish. 

6.  Bores,  The  terrors  of  childhood.  The  vanities  of  young  men. 
Methods  of  coquetry,  —  of  becoming  popular,  —  of  always  hav- 
ing one's  way.  The  idiosyncrasies  of  elderly  bachelors.  Books  to 
read  on  the  train.  Acquaintances  of  the  dining-car. 

VI.  Write  a  250  word  analysis  of  whatever  type  you  choose  on  any  of 
the  following  subjects: 

The  dishonesty  of  college  catalogues.  The  prevalence  of  fires  in 
the  United  States,  Causes  of  weakness  in  I  beams.  Effect  of  fairy 
stories  on  children.  Religious  sectarianism.  Public  attitude  toward 
an  actress.  The  business  man's  opinion  of  the  college  professor. 
The  tyranny  of  the  teaching  of  our  earliest  years.  The  state  of 
American  forests.  Municipal  wastefulness.  Opportunities  for  lucra- 


146  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

tive  emplo^Tnent  at college  or  university,  The  effect  of  ori- 
ental rugs  in  a  room.  The  attitude  of  people  in  a  small  town  to- 
ward their  young  people  in  college.  People  who  are  desolate 
without  the  "Movies"  four  or  five  times  a  week. 
VII.  Write  a  1500-2000  word  analytical  theme  on  any  of  the  following 
subjects: 

1.  The  Responsibilities  of  Individualism. 

2.  American  Slavery  to  the  Printed  Word. 

3.  The  Ideal  Vacation. 

4.  What  Shall  We  Do  with  Sunday? 

5.  The  Value  of  Reading  Fiction. 

6.  Why  I  am  a  Republican,  or  Democrat,  or  Pessimist,  or  Agnos- 
tic, or  Humanist,  or  Rebel  in  general,  or  Agitator  or  —  what- 
not? 

7.  The  Classics  and  the  American  Student  in  the  Twentieth 
Century. 

8.  The  Chief  Function  of  a  College. 

9.  The  Decline  of  Manners. 

10.  A  Defense  of  Cheap  Vaudeville. 

11.  The  Workingman  Should  Know  His  Place  and  Keep  It. 

12.  The  Study  of  History  as  an  Aid  to  a  Critical  Estimate  of  the 
Present. 

13.  The  Relation  of  Friendship  to  Similarity  in  Point  of  View. 

14.  Intellectual  Leadership  in  America. 

15.  The  Present  Situation  in  the  World  of  Baseball. 

16.  The  Reaction  of  War  upon  the  Finer  Sensibilities  of  Civilians. 

17.  Patriotism  and  Intellectual  Detachment. 

18.  The  Breeding  Place  of  Social  Improvements. 

19.  Organization  in  Modern  Life. 

20.  The  Conflict  of  Political  and  Moral  Loyalty. 

21.  Why  Has  Epic  Poetry  Passed  from  Favor? 

22.  The  Stability  of  American  Political  Opinion. 

23.  The  Shifting  Geography  of  Intellectual  Leadership  in  the  World. 
VIII.  In  the  following  selection  what  does  Mr.  Shaw  analyze?     On  what 

basis?     Is  he  thorough?     If  not,  what  does  he  omit?     Does  the 
omission,  if  there  is  any,  vitally  harm  the  analysis? 

Passion  is  the  steam  in  the  engine  of  all  religious  and  moral 
systems.  In  so  far  as  it  is  malevolent,  the  religions  are  malevolent 
too,  and  insist  on  human  sacrifices,  on  hell,  wrath,  and  vengeance. 
You  cannot  read  Browning's  Caliban  upon  Sctebos;  or.  Natural 
Theology  in  the  Island,  without  admitting  that  all  our  religions 
have  been  made  as  Caliban  made  his,  and  that  the  difference  be- 
tween Caliban  and  Prospero  is  not  that  Prospero  has  killed  passion 
in  himself  whilst  Caliban  has  yielded  to  it,  but  that  Prospero  is 
mastered  by  holier  passions  than  Caliban's.     Abstract  principles 


ANALYSIS  147 

of  conduct  break  down  in  practice  because  kindness  and  truth  and 
justice  are  not  duties  founded  on  abstract  principles  external  to 
man,  but  human  passions,  which  have,  in  their  time,  conflicted 
with  higher  passions  as  well  as  with  lower  ones.  If  a  young  woman, 
in  a  mood  of  strong  reaction  against  the  preaching  of  duty  and  self- 
sacrifice  and  the  rest  of  it,  were  to  tell  me  that  she  was  determined 
not  to  murder  her  own  instincts  and  throw  away  her  life  in  obedi- 
ence to  a  mouthful  of  empty  phrases,  I  should  say  to  her:  "By  all 
means  do  as  you  propose.  Try  how  wicked  you  can  be:  it  is  pre- 
cisely the  same  experiment  as  trj-ing  how  good  you  can  be.  At 
worst  you  will  only  find  out  the  sort  of  person  you  are.  At  best 
you  will  find  that  your  passions,  if  you  really  and  honestly  let 
them  all  loose  impartially,  will  discipline  you  with  a  severity 
which  your  conventional  friends,  abandoning  themselves  to  the 
mechanical  routine  of  fashion,  could  not  stand  for  a  day."  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  we  have  seen  over  and  over  again  this  comedy  of 
the  "emancipated"  young  enthusiast  flinging  duty  and  religion, 
convention  and  parental  authority,  to  the  winds,  only  to  find  her- 
self, for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  plunged  into  duties,  responsibili- 
ties, and  sacrifices  from  which  she  is  often  glad  to  retreat,  after  a 
few  years'  wearing  down  of  her  enthusiasm,  into  the  compara- 
tively loose  life  of  an  ordinary  respectable  woman  of  fashion.^ 

Analyze  the  relation  of  sincerity  to  teaching,  of  intellectual  bravery 
to  reading,  of  subservience  to  politics,  of  vitality  to  creative  writing, 
of  broadmindedness  to  social  reform,  of  sympathy  to  social  judgment. 

Rewrite  Mr.  Shaw's  article  so  as  to  place  the  sentence  which 
now  begins  the  selection  at  the  end.  Is  the  result  an  improvement 
or  a  drawback?  What  difference  in  the  reader  might  make  this 
change  advisable? 
IX.  In  the  light  of  the  following  statement  of  the  philosophy  of  Mr. 
Arthur  Balfour,  the  English  statesman,  analyze,  into  one  word  if 
possible,  the  philosophy  of  Lincoln,  of  Bismarck,  of  Mr.  Wilson,  of 
Robert  E.  Lee,  of  Webster,  of  William  Pitt,  of  Burke,  of  any  political 
thinker  of  whom  you  know. 

In  the  same  way  analyze  the  military  policy  of  Napoleon  or  Grant 
or  any  other  general;  the  social  philosophy  of  Jane  Addams,  Rous- 
seau, Carlyle,  Jeft'erson,  or  any  other  thinker;  the  creed  of  personal 
conduct  of  Browning,  Whitman,  Thackeray  (as  shown  in  Vanity 
Fair),  or  of  any  other  person  concerned  with  the  individual. 

Analyze  the  effect  of  such  a  philosophy  as  Mr.  Balfour's.  Analyze 
the  relation  of  such  a  philosophy  as  this  to  the  actively  interested 
personal  conduct  of  the  holder  of  it  toward  definite  personal 
ends. 

•  George  Bernard  Shaw:  The  Sanity  of  Art.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Boni  &  Live- 
right. 


148  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

Balfour  is  essentially  a  sceptic.  He  looks  out  on  life  with  a 
mingled  scOrn  and  pity  —  scorn  for  its  passionate  strivings  for  the 
unattainable,  pity  for  its  meanness  and  squalor.  He  does  not 
know  the  reading  of  the  riddle,  but  he  knows  that  all  ends  in  failure 
and  disillusion.  Ever  the  rosy  dawn  of  youth  and  hope  fades  away 
into  the  sadness  of  evening  and  the  blackness  of  night,  and  out  of 
that  blackness  comes  no  flash  of  revelation,  no  message  of  cheer. 

The  Worldly  Hope  men  set  their  hearts  upon 
Turns  iVshes  —  or  it  prospers;  and  anon 

Like  Snow  upon  the  Desert's  dusty  Face 
Lighting  a  little  Hour  or  two  —  is  gone. 

Why  meddle  with  the  loom  and  its  flying  shuttle.''  We  are  the 
warp  and  weft  with  which  the  great  Weaver  works  His  infinite  de- 
sign —  that  design  which  is  beyond  the  focus  of  all  mortal  vision, 
and  in  which  the  glory  of  Greece,  the  pomp  of  Rome,  the  ambition 
of  Carthage,  seven  times  buried  beneath  the  dust  of  the  desert,  are 
but  inscrutable  passages  of  glowing  color.  All  our  schemes  are 
futile,  for  we  do  not  know  the  end,  and  that  which  seems  to  us  evil 
may  serve  some  ultimate  good,  and  that  which  seems  right  may 
pave  the  path  to  wrong.  In  this  fantastic  mockery  of  all  human 
effort  the  only  attitude  is  the  "wise  passiveness"  of  the  poet.  Let 
us  accept  the  irrevocable  fate  unresistingly. 

In  a  word.  Drift.  That  is  the  political  philosophy  of  Mr. 
Balfour.^ 

X.  Analyze  the  method  of  treatment  that  the  author  uses  in  the  fol- 
lowing selections  about  King  Edward  VII  and  Mr.  Thomas  Hardy, 
and  in  the  one  just  quoted  about  Mr.  Balfour.  Would  the  result 
in  the  reader's  mind  be  as  good,  or  better,  if  the  author  specified  a 
larger  number  of  qualities?  Why?  What  feeling  do  you  have  as  to 
the  fairness  of  the  three  treatments?  Does  any  one  of  the  three 
seem  to  claim  completeness?     Which  is  most  nearly  complete? 

Write  a  similar  analysis,  reducing  to  one  or  two  main  qualities  or 
characteristics,  the  American  Civil  War,  the  French  Revolution,  the 
Industrial  Revolution,  the  Romantic  Movement  in  Literature,  the 
Celtic  Spirit,  the  Puritan  Spirit,  Socialism,  Culture. 

Now,  King  Edward  is,  above  everything  else,  a  very  human 
man.  He  is  not  deceived  by  the  pomp  and  circumstance  in  the 
midst  of  which  it  has  been  his  lot  to  live,  for  he  has  no  illusions. 
He  is  eminently  .sane.  He  was  cast  for  a  part  in  the  piece  of  life 
from  his  cradle,  and  he  plays  it  industriously  and  thoroughly;  but 
he  has  never  lost  the  point  of  view  of  the  plain  man.  He  has  much 
more  in  common  with  the  President  of  a  free  State  than  with  the 

1  A.  G.  Gardiner:  Prophets,  Priests,  and  Kings.     By  permission  of  the  publishers,  E.  P. 
Button  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 


ANALYSIS  149 

King  by  Divine  right.  He  is  simply  the  chief  citizen,  primus  inter 
pares,  and  the  fact  that  he  is  chief  by  heredity  and  not  by  election 
does  not  qualify  his  views  of  the  reality  of  the  position.  Unlike 
his  nephew,  he  never  associates  the  Almighty  with  his  right  to 
rule,  though  he  associates  Him  with  his  rule.  His  common  sense 
and  his  gift  of  humor  save  him  from  these  exalted  and  antiquated 
assumptions.  Nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  this  sensible  atti- 
tude than  his  love  for  the  French  people  and  French  institutions. 
No  King  by  "Divine  right"  could  be  on  speaking  terms  with  a 
country  which  has  swept  the  whole  institution  of  Kingship  on  to 
the  dust-heap. 

And  his  saving  grace  of  humor  enables  him  to  enjoy  and  poke 
fun  at  the  folly  of  the  tuft-hunter  and  the  collector  of  Royal  cherry 
stones.  He  laughingly  inverts  the  folly.  "You  see  that  chair," 
he  said  in  tones  of  awe  to  a  guest  entering  his  smoking  room  at 
Windsor.  "That  is  the  chair  John  Burns  sat  in."  His  Majesty 
has  a  genuine  liking  for  "J.  B."  who,  I  have  no  doubt,  delivered 
from  that  chair  a  copious  digest  of  his  Raper  lecture,  coupled  with 
illuminating  statistics  on  infantile  mortality,  some  approving  com- 
ments on  the  member  for  Battersea,  and  a  little  wholesome  advice 
on  the  duties  of  a  King.  This  liking  for  Mr.  Burns  is  as  charac- 
teristic of  the  King  as  his  liking  for  France.  He  prefers  plain, 
breezy  men  who  admit  him  to  the  common  humanities  rather  than 
those  who  remind  him  of  his  splendid  isolation.  He  would  have 
had  no  emotion  of  pride  when  Scott,  who,  with  all  his  great  quali- 
ties, was  a  deplorable  tuft-hunter,  solemnly  put  the  wine  glass  that 
had  touched  the  Royal  lips  into  the  tail  pocket  of  his  coat,  but  he 
would  have  immensely  enjoyed  the  moment  when  he  inadvertently 
sat  on  it.^ 

Thomas  Hardy  lives  in  the  deepening  shadow  of  the  mystery  of 
this  unintelligible  world.  The  journey  that  began  with  the  bucolic 
joy  of  Under  the  Greenicood  Tree  has  reached  its  close  in  the  un- 
mitigated misery  of  Jude  the  Obscure,  accompanied  by  the  mocking 
voices  of  those  aerial  spirits  who  pass  their  comments  upon  the 
futile  struggle  of  the  "Dynasts,"  as  they  march  their  armies  to 
and  fro  acro.ss  the  mountains  and  rivers  of  that  globe  which  the 
eye  of  the  imagination  sees  whirling  like  a  midge  in  space.  Na- 
poleon and  the  Powers!  What  are  they  but  puppets  in  the  hand 
of  some  passionless  fate,  loveless  and  hateless,  whose  purposes  are 
beyond  all  human  vision? 

O  Immanence,  That  reasoncst  not 

In  putting  forth  all  things  begot. 

Thou  buiidesc  Thy  house  in  space  —  for  what? 

1  A.  G.  Gardiner:  Prophets,  Priests,  and  Kings.      By  permission  of  the  publishers,  E.  P. 
Dutton  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 


150  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

O  Loveless,  Hateless!  —  past  the  sense 

Of  kindly-eyed  benevolence. 

To  what  tune  danceth  this  Immense? 

And  for  answer  comes  the  mocking  voice  of  the  Spirit  Ironic  — 

For  one  I  cannot  answer.     But  I  know 
'T  is  handsome  of  our  Pities  so  to  sing 
The  praises  of  the  dreaming,  dark,  dumb  Thing 

That  turns  the  handle  of  this  idle  Show. 

Night  has  come  down  upon  the  outlook  of  the  writer  as  it  came 
down  over  the  somber  waste  of  Egdon  Heath.  There  is  not  a 
cheerful  feature  left,  not  one  glint  of  sunshine  in  the  sad  land- 
scape of  broken  ambitions  and  squalor  and  hopeless  strivings  and 
triumphant  misery.  Labor  and  sorrow,  a  little  laughter,  disillu- 
sion and  suffering  —  and  after  that,  the  dark.  Not  the  dark  that 
flees  before  the  cheerful  dawn,  but  the  dark  whose  greatest  bene- 
diction is  eternal  nothingness.  Other  men  of  genius,  most  men 
of  genius,  have  had  their  periods  of  deep  dejection  in  which  only 
the  mocking  voice  of  the  Spirit  Ironic  answered  their  passionate 
questionings.  Shakespeare  himself  may  be  assumed  to  have 
passed  through  the  valley  of  gloom  in  that  tremendous  period 
when  he  produced  the  great  tragedies;  but  he  came  out  of  tha 
shadow,  and  The  Winter's  Tale  has  the  serenity  and  peace  of  a 
cloudless  sunset.  But  the  pilgrimage  of  Thomas  Hardy  has  led 
us  ever  into  the  deeper  shadow.  The  shades  of  the  prison-house 
have  closed  around  us  and  there  is  no  return  to  the  cheerful  day. 
The  journey  we  began  with  those  jolly  carol-singers  under  the 
greenwood  tree  has  ended  in  the  hopeless  misery  of  Jude.^ 

XI.  On  what  basis  is  the  following  analysis  of  the  farmer's  life  made? 
Do  you  discover  any  overlapping  of  parts?  Is  the  analysis  so  in- 
complete as  to  be  of  slight  value?  At  what  point  can  you  draw  the 
line  between  analysis  and  mere  "remarks"  about  a  subject? 

Over  and  above  the  hardiness  which  the  farm  engenders,  and  of 
a  far  higher  quality,  is  the  moral  courage  it  calls  into  play.  Cour- 
age is  the  elemental  virtue,  for  life  has  been  and  will  forever  be  a 
fight.  A  farmer's  life  is  one  incessant  fight.  Think  what  he 
dares!  He  dares  to  try  to  control  the  face  of  this  planet.  In 
order  to  raise  his  crops  he  pits  himself  against  the  weather  and  the 
seasons;  he  forces  the  soil  to  his  wishes;  he  wars  against  the  plant 
world,  the  bacterial  world.  Is  not  that  a  fight,  looked  at  philo- 
sophically, to  make  one  stand  aghast?  After  I  had  been  on  the 
farm  seven  years,  the  tremendousness  of  the  fight  that  my  fellow 
farmers  were  waging  disclosed  itself  to  me  with  a  force  no  figure 

1  A.  G.  Gardiner:  Prophets,  Priests,  and  Kings.     By  permission  of  the  publishers,  E.  P. 
Button  &  Co.,  New  York  C^ty. 


ANALYSIS  151 

of  speech  can  convey.  Until  one  can  be  brought  to  some  realiza- 
tion of  this  aspect  of  the  farmer's  life,  he  has  no  adequate  grounds 
for  comprehending  the  discipline  and  development  which  is  the 
very  nature  of  the  case  that  life  must  receive.  I  often  contrast 
the  life  of  the  clerk  at  his  books,  or  the  mechanic  at  his  bench,  or 
the  professional  man  at  his  desk,  with  the  lot  of  the  farmer.  The 
dangers  and  uncertainties  they  confront  seem  to  me  extraordi- 
narily mild  compared  with  the  risk  the  farmer  runs.  That  the 
former  will  be  paid  for  their  work  is  almost  certain;  it  is  extremely 
uncertain  whether  the  farmer  will  be  paid  for  his.  He  must  dare 
to  lose  at  every  turn;  scarcely  a  week  passes  in  which  he  does  not 
lose,  sometimes  heavily,  sometimes  considerably.  Those  mo- 
ments in  a  battle  when  it  seems  as  if  every  plan  had  gone  to  smash, 
which  so  test  the  fortitude  of  a  general,  are  moments  which  a 
farmer  experiences  more  frequently  and  more  strenuously  than 
men  in  most  occupations.  If  he  sticks  to  his  task  successfully 
his  capacity  for  courage  must  grow  to  meet  the  demands;  if  he  will 
not  stick,  he  is  sifted  out  by  force  of  circumstance,  leaving  the 
stronger  type  of  man  to  hold  the  farm.^ 

Analyze  the  life  of  the  iron-worker,  the  country  doctor,  the  head- 
nurse  of  a  city  hospital,  the  college  professor,  the  private  detective. 

XII.  Would  you  classify  the  following  selection  as  formal  or  informal 
classification  or  partition? 

"Write  a  similar  treatment  of  fuel  power,  moral  power,  physical 
strength,  intellectual  power. 

Wherever  rain  falls  streams  will  form,  the  water  of  which  repre- 
sents the  concentrated  drainage  of  all  the  land  sloping  toward  that 
particular  valley  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  stream  flows.  This 
stream  flow  consists  of  the  rainfall  over  the  whole  watershed  less 
the  amount  absorbed  by  the  earth  or  evaporated  from  the  surface, 
and  every  such  stream  is  a  potential  source  of  power.  The  possi- 
ble water-power  of  a  country  or  district  is,  therefore,  primarily 
dependent  on  rainfall,  but  also,  of  course,  on  absorption  and  sur- 
face evaporation.  In  places  where  the  land  is  approximately  flat, 
the  tendency  to  concentrate  rainfall  into  streams  would  be  small, 
as  the  water  would  tend  to  lie  rather  in  swampy  low  pools,  or  form 
innumerable  tiny,  slowly  moving  brooks.  On  the  contrary,  if  the 
country  were  of  a  rolling  or  mountainous  character,  there  would  be 
two  important  differences  introduced.  First,  water  would  con- 
centrate in  a  few  larger  and  faster-moving  streams,  the  water  of 
which  would  represent  the  collection  from  perhaps  thousands  of 
square  miles;  and  secondly,  it  would  be  constantly  falling  from 
higher  to  lower  levels  on  its  way  to  the  sea.     While,  therefore,  all 

'  Arthur  M.  Judy:  From  the  Study  to  the  Farm.     By  courtesy  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly 
Company. 


152  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

streams  are  potential,  or  possible  sources  of  power,  and  water- 
power  might  seem  to  be  available  all  over  the  earth,  yet,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  only  those  streams  that  are  large  enough  or  in  which  the 
fall  of  level  is  great  enough,  are  really  worth  while  to  develop;  and 
only  in  these  districts  where  the  rainfall  is  great  enough  and  the 
earth  not  too  flat  or  too  absorbent,  or  the  air  too  dry,  may  any 
streams  of  useful  character  at  all  be  expected.  The  power  repre- 
sented by  all  the  water  of  a  stream,  and  its  entire  fall  from  the 
source  to  the  sea,  is  likewise  only  partly  available.  No  one  would 
think  of  trying  to  carry  water  in  pipes  from  the  source  of  a  stream 
a  thousand  miles  to  its  mouth  for  the  sake  of  running  some  water- 
wheels.^ 

XIII.  For  what  kind  of  reader  do  you  judge  that  the  following  partition 
of  the  orchestra  was  written?  Is  the  partition  complete.^  What 
is  the  basis  on  which  it  is  made?  How  does  it  differ  from  an  appreci- 
ative criticism  of  the  orchestra  as  a  musical  instrument?  (See 
chapter  on  Criticism.) 

Make  a  similar  partition  of  the  brass  band,  the  feudal  system,  the 
United  States  Government,  the  United  States  Army,  the  Hague 
Conference,  the  pipe  organ,  the  printing  press,  a  canal  lock,  a  Greek 
drama,  a  large  modern  circus,  mathematics,  etc. 

The  modern  orchestra  is  the  result  of  a  long  development, 
which  it  would  not  be  profitable  to  trace  in  this  book.  It  is  a 
body  of  instruments,  selected  with  a  view  to  their  ability  to  per- 
form the  most  complex  music.  It  will  be  readily  understood  that 
such  an  instrumental  body  must  possess  a  wide  range  of  timbres, 
a  great  compass,  extensive  gradations  of  force,  the  greatest  flexi- 
bility, and  a  solid  sonority  which  can  be  maintained  from  the  fin- 
est pianissimo  to  the  heaviest  forte.  Of  course  the  preservation 
of  some  of  these  qualities,  such  as  flexibility  and  solidity,  depend 
largely  unon  the  skill  of  the  comijoscr,  but  they  are  all  inherent 
in  the  orchestra.  They  are  gained  by  the  use  of  three  classes  of 
in.struments,  grouped  under  the  general  heads  of  wood,  brass,  and 
strings,  which  have  special  tone-colors  and  individuality  when 
heard  in  their  distinct  groups,  but  which  combine  admirably  in 
the  ensemble. 

It  is  the  custom  to  name  the  three  groups  in  the  order  given  be- 
cause, for  the  sake  of  convenience,  composers  place  the  flute  parts 
at  the  top  of  the  page  of  the  score  where  the  wide  margin  gives 
room  for  their  high  notes.  The  other  wood-wind  instruments  fol- 
low the  flutes,  so  as  to  keep  the  wood-choir  together.  The  brass 
is  placed  under  the  wood  because  its  members  are  so  often  com- 

»  Charles  E.  Lucke:  Power.     By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  the  Columbia  University 
Press. 


ANALYSIS  153 

bined  with  some  of  the  wood  instruments  in  sounding  chords. 
This  brings  the  strings  to  the  bottom  of  the  page,  the  instruments 
of  percussion  (drums,  cymbals,  etc.)  being  inserted  between  them 
and  the  brass. 

The  instruments  of  the  conventional  symphonic  orchestra  of 
the  classic  period,  then,  are  flutes,  oboes,  clarinets,  bassoons  in  the 
wood  department,  horns,  trumpets,  and  trombones  in  the  brass, 
and  violins,  violas,  violoncellos,  and  double-basses  for  strings. 
Modern  composers  have  added  for  special  reasons  the  English 
horn,  which  is  the  alto  of  the  oboe,  the  bass-clarinet,  the  contra- 
bassoon  (which  sounds  an  octave  lower  than  the  ordinary  bas- 
soon), the  bass-tuba,  a  powerful  double-bass  brass  instrument, 
and  the  harp.  The  piccolo,  a  small,  shrill  flute  sounding  an  oc- 
tave higher  than  the  ordinary  flute,  was  introduced  into  the 
symphony  orchestra  by  Beethoven,  though  it  had  frequently  been 
used  before  in  opera  scores.* 

XIV.  Criticize  the  following  analysis  of  the  indispensability  of  Law. 
Write  an  analysis  of  the  necessity  for  conformity  to  current  style 
in  dress,  the  necessity  for  theaters,  of  the  reason  why  ultimate  de- 
mocracy is  inevitable  for  the  whole  world;  of  the  inevitability  of 
conflict  between  advancing  thought  and  established  religion;  of  the 
unavoidability  of  struggle  between  capital  and  labor. 

The  truth  is,  laws,  religions,  creeds,  and  systems  of  ethics,  in- 
stead of  making  society  better  than  its  best  unit,  make  it  worse 
than  its  average  unit,  because  they  are  never  up  to  date.  You  will 
ask  me:  "Why  have  them  at  all?"  I  will  tell  you.  They  are 
made  necessary,  though  we  all  secretly  detest  them,  by  the  fact 
that  the  number  of  people  who  can  think  out  a  line  of  conduct 
"^V~^  for  themselves  even  on  one  point  is  very  small,  and  the  number 
)  who  can  afford  the  time  for  it  is  still  smaller.  Nobody  can  afford 
the  time  to  do  it  on  all  points.  The  professional  thinker  may  on 
occasion  make  his  own  morality  and  philosophy  as  the  cobbler 
may  make  his  own  boots;  but  the  ordinary  man  of  business  must 
buy  at  the  shop,  so  to  speak,  and  put  up  with  what  he  finds  on 
sale  there,  whether  it  exactly  suits  him  or  not,  because  he  can 
neither  make  a  morality  for  himself  nor  do  without  one.  This 
type^vTiter  with  which  I  am  writing  is  the  best  I  can  get;  but  it  is 
by  no  means  a  perfect  instrument;  and  I  have  not  the  smallest 
doubt  that  in  fifty  years'  time  authors  will  wonder  how  men  could 
have  put  up  with  so  clumsy  a  contrivance.  When  a  better  one  is 
invented  I  shall  buy  it:  until  then,  not  being  myself  an  inventor, 
I  must  make  the  best  of  it,  just  as  my  Protestant  and  Roman 

1  W.  H.  Henderson:  What  is  Good  Music  f    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  New  York  City.    Copyright,  1898. 


154  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

Catholic  and  Agnostic  friends  make  the  best  of  their  imperfect 
creeds  and  systems.  Oh,  Father  Tucker,  worshiper  of  Liberty, 
where  shall  we  find  a  land  where  the  thinking  and  moralizing  can 
be  done  without  division  of  labor? 

Besides,  what  have  deep  thinkintr  and  moralizing  to  do  with  the 
most  necessary  and  least  questionable  side  of  law?  Just  consider 
how  much  we  need  law  in  matters  which  have  absolutely  no  moral 
bearing  at  all.  Is  there  anything  more  aggravating  than  to  be 
told,  when  you  are  socially  promoted,  and  are  not  quite  sure  how 
to  behave  yourself  in  the  circles  you  enter  for  the  first  time,  that 
good  manners  are  merely  a  matter  of  good  sense,  and  that  rank  is 
but  the  guinea's  stamp:  the  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that?  Imagine 
taking  the  field  with  an  army  which  knew  nothing  except  that  the 
soldier's  duty  is  to  defend  his  country  bravely,  and  think,  not  of 
his  own  safety,  nor  of  home  and  beauty,  but  of  England !  Or  of 
leaving  the  traffic  of  Piccadilly  or  Broadway  to  proceed  on  the 
understanding  that  every  driver  should  keep  to  that  side  of  the 
road  which  seemed  to  him  to  promote  the  greatest  happiness  to 
the  greatest  number!  Or  of  stage  managing  Hamlet  by  assuring 
the  Ghost  that  whether  he  entered  from  the  right  or  the  left  could 
make  no  difference  to  the  greatness  of  Shakespeare's  play,  and 
that  all  he  need  concern  himself  about  was  holding  the  mirror  up 
to  nature!  Law  is  never  so  necessary  as  when  it  has  no  ethical 
significance  whatever,  and  is  pure  law  for  the  sake  of  law.  The 
law  that  compels  me  to  keep  to  the  left  when  driving  along  Oxford 
Street  is  ethically  senseless,  as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  keeping 
to  the  right  serves  equally  well  in  Paris;  and  it  certainly  destroys 
my  freedom  to  choose  my  side;  but  by  enabling  me  to  count  on 
every  one  else  keeping  to  the  left  also,  thus  making  traffic  possible 
and  safe,  it  enlarges  my  life  and  sets  my  mind  free  for  nobler  issues. 
Most  laws,  in  short,  are  not  the  expression  of  the  ethical  verdicts 
of  the  community,  but  pure  etiquette  and  nothing  else.  What  they 
do,express  is  the  fact  that  over  most  of  the  field  of  social  life  there 
are  wide  limits  within  which  it  does  not  matter  what  people  do, 
though  it  matters  enormously  under  given  circumstances  wliether 
you  can  depend  on  their  all  doing  the  same  thing.  The  wasp,  who 
can  be  depended  on  absolutely  to  sting  if  you  squeeze  him,  is  less 
of  a  nuisance  than  the  man  who  tries  to  do  business  with  you  not 
according  to  the  custom  of  business,  but  according  to  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount,  or  than  the  lady  who  dines  with  you  and  refuses, 
on  republican  and  dietetic  principles,  to  allow  precedence  to  a  duch- 
ess or  to  partake  of  food  which  contains  uric  acid.  The  ordinary 
man  cannot  get  through  the  world  without  being  told  what  to  do  at 
every  turn,  and  basing  such  calculations  as  he  is  capable  of  on  the 
assumption  that  every  one  else  will  calculate  on  the  same  assump- 
tions.   Even  your  man  of  genius  accepts  a  hundred  rules  for  every 


ANALYSIS  155 

one  he  challenges;  and  you  may  lodge  in  the  same  house  with  an 
Anarchist  for  ten  years  without  noticing  anything  exceptional 
about  him.  Martin  Luther,  the  priest,  horrified  the  greater  half 
of  Christendom  by  marrying  a  nun,  yet  was  a  submissive  con- 
formist in  countless  ways,  living  orderly  as  a  husband  and  father, 
wearing  what  his  bootmaker  and  tailor  made  for  him,  and  dwelling 
in  what  the  builder  built  for  him,  although  he  would  have  died 
rather  than  take  his  Church  from  the  Pope.  And  when  he  got  a 
Church  made  by  himself  to  his  liking,  generations  of  men  calling 
themselves  Lutherans  took  that  Church  from  him  just  as  unques- 
tioningly  as  he  took  the  fashion  of  his  clothes  from  the  tailor.  As 
the  race  evolves,  many  a  convention  which  recommends  itself  by 
its  obvious  utility  to  every  one  passes  into  an  automatic  habit  like 
breathing.  Doubtless  also  an  improvement  in  our  nerves  and 
judgment  may  enlarge  the  list  of  emergencies  which  individuals 
may  be  entrusted  to  deal  with  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  without 
reference  to  regulations;  but  a  ready-made  code  of  conduct  for 
general  use  will  always  be  needed  as  a  matter  of  overwhelming 
convenience  by  all  members  of  communities. 

The  continual  danger  to  liberty  created  by  law  arises,  not  from 
the  encroachments  of  Governments,  which  are  always  regarded 
with  suspicion,  but  from  the  immense  utility  and  consequent 
popularity  of  law,  and  the  terrifying  danger  and  obvious  incon- 
venience of  anarchy;  so  that  even  pirates  appoint  and  obey  a 
captain.  Law  soon  acquires  such  a  good  character  that  people 
will  believe  no  evil  of  it;  and  at  this  point  it  becomes  possible  for 
priests  and  rulers  to  commit  the  most  pernicious  crimes  in  the  name 
of  law  and  order.  Creeds  and  laws  come  to  be  regarded  as  appli- 
cations to  human  conduct  of  eternal  and  immutable  principles  of 
good  and  evil;  and  breakers  of  the  law  are  abhorred  as  sacrilegious 
scoundrels  to  whom  nothing  is  sacred.  Now  this,  I  need  not  tell 
you,  is  a  very  serious  error.  No  law  is  so  independent  of  circum- 
stances that  the  time  never  comes  for  breaking  it,  changing  it, 
scrapping  it  as  obsolete,  and  even  making  its  observance  a  crime. 
In  a  developing  civilization  nothing  can  make  laws  tolerable  unless 
their  changes  and  modifications  are  kept  as  closely  as  possible  on 
the  heels  of  the  changes  and  modifications  in  social  conditions 
which  development  involves.  Also  there  is  a  bad  side  to  the  very 
convenience  of  law.  It  deadens  the  conscience  of  individuals  by 
relieving  them  of  the  ethical  responsibility  of  their  own  actions. 
When  this  relief  is  made  as  complete  as  possible,  it  reduces  a  man 
to  a  condition  in  which  his  very  virtues  are  contemptible.  Mili- 
tary discipline,  for  example,  aims  at  destroying  the  individuality 
and  initiative  of  the  soldier  whilst  increasing  his  mechanical 
efficiency,  until  he  is  simply  a  weapon  with  the  power  of  hearing 
and  obeying  orders.     In  him  you  have  legality,  duty,  obedience^ 


156  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

self-denial,  submission  to  external  authority,  carried  as  far  as  it 
can  be  carried;  and  the  result  is  that  in  England,  where  military 
service  is  voluntary,  the  common  soldier  is  less  respected  than  any 
other  serviceable  worker  in  the  community.  The  police  constable, 
who  is  a  civilian  and  has  to  use  his  own  judgment  and  act  on  his  owti 
responsibility  in  innumerable  petty  emergencies,  is  by  comparison 
a  popular  and  esteemed  citizen.  The  Roman  Catholic  peasant 
)  who  consults  his  parish  priest  instead  of  his  consci^ce,  and  sub- 

mits wholly  to  the  authority  of  his  Church,  is  mastered  and  gov- 
erned either  by  statesmen  and  cardinals  who  despise  his  super- 
stition, or  by  Protestants  who  are  at  least  allowed  to  persuade 
themselves  that  they  have  arrived  at  their  religious  opinions 
through  the  exercise  of  their  private  judgment.  The  moral  evo- 
lution of  the  social  individual  is  from  submission  and  obedience  as 
economizers  of  effort  and  responsibility,  and  safeguards  against 
panic  and  incontinence,  to  willfulness  and  self-assertion  made  safe 
by  reason  and  self-control,  just  as  plainly  as  his  physical  growth 
leads  him  from  the  perambulator  and  the  nurse's  apron  strings  to 
the  power  of  walking  alone,  and  from  the  tutelage  of  the  boy  to  the 
responsibility  of  the  man.  But  it  is  useless  for  impatient  spirits 
(like  you  and  I,  for  instance)  to  call  on  people  to  walk  before  they 
can  stand.  Without  high  gifts  of  reason  and  self-control:  that  is, 
without  strong  common-sense,  no  man  yet  dares  trust  himself  out 
of  the  school  of  authority.  What  he  does  is  to  claim  gradual 
relaxations  of  the  discipline,  so  as  to  have  as  much  liberty  as  he 
thinks  is  good  for  him,  and  as  much  government  as  he  thinks  he 
needs  to  keep  him  straight.  If  he  goes  too  fast  he  soon  finds  him- 
self asking  helplessly,  "What  ought  I  to  do.'"  and  so,  after  run- 
ning to  the  doctor,  the  lawyer,  the  expert,  the  old  friend,  and  all 
the  other  quacks  for  advice,  he  runs  back  to  the  law  again  to  save 
him  from  all  these  and  from  himself.  The  law  may  be  wrong;  but 
anyhow  it  spares  him  the  responsibility  of  choosing,  and  will  either 
punish  those  who  make  him  look  ridiculous  by  exposing  its  folly, 
or,  when  the  constitution  is  too  democratic  for  this,  at  least  guar- 
antee that  the  majority  is  on  his  side.^ 

>  George  Bernard  Shaw:    The  Sanity  qf  Art.      By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Boni  & 
Liverigbt. 


CHAPTER  V 

MECHANISMS,  PROCESSES,  AND  ORGANIZATIONS 

The  problem  of  giving  directions  for  making  or  doing 
something,  or  of  explaining  the  working  of  an  organization, 
is  not  always  easy  to  solve.  Most  difficulties,  however, 
occur  through  lack  of  considering  just  what  the  problem  in- 
volves, and  through  lack  of  sufficiently  simplifying  the  ma- 
terial. Thus,  when  you  ask  an  old  man  in  a  strange  city 
where  the  post-office  is,  he  is  likely  to  reply  somewhat  as 
follows:  "You  keep  on  just  as  you  are  going  for  a  little  ways, 
and  then  turn  down  a  narrow  street  on  the  right  and  go 
along  for  four  blocks,  and  then  turn  to  your  left  and  go  until 
you  come  to  a  square,  and  then  go  across  it  and  down  a  side 
street  and  through  an  office  building,  and  then  it's  the  stone 
building  on  the  corner  of  the  second  street  to  your  right." 
You  stroke  your  chin,  meditate  a  bit,  and,  if  you  are  polite, 
thank  your  informant  for  his  kind  intentions.  Then  you 
ask  the  next  person  whom  you  meet  to  tell  you  where  the 
post-office  is.  The  old  man  meant  well,  of  course,  but  he 
failed  to  simplify.  So  did  the  author  of  the  little  book  that 
Johnny  received  for  Christmas  mean  well  when  he  ex])lained 
how  to  make  a  beautiful  chemical  effect.  But  Johnny,  who 
was  a  fairly  impetuous  youth,  did  not  stop  to  read  the  foot- 
note at  the  end  which  warned  against  working  near  a  fire. 
When  he  was  seraphically  pouring  his  chemicals  together 
near  the  old  oil  lamp  in  the  "shop"  there  came  a  flash,  a 
deafening  roar  —  and  little  Johnny  had  no  time  either  to 
examine  footnotes  or,  after  the  smoke  had  cleared,  for  'post- 
mortem complaints.  The  trouble  lay  in  the  fact  that  the 
author  did  not  give  Johnny  the  necessary  information  at 
the  essential  time. 


158  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

It  seems  that  neither  piety  nor  wit  will  suffice  to  locate 
post-offices  or  direct  experiments  or  explain  machines.  Bet- 
ter than  either  of  these  is  the  ability  to  make  the  mechanism, 
the  process,  the  organization  transparently  clear,  with  each 
bit  of  information  given  at  exactly  the  proper  moment. 
For,  since  the  object  of  such  explanation  as  attempts  to 
make  clear  is  primarily  information,  the  main  quality  of  the 
writing  should  be  clearness.  Everything  that  stands  in  the 
way  of  this  quality  should  be  made  to  surrender  to  explana- 
tion. If  the  subject  is  itself  interesting  or  remarkable,  the 
facts  may  speak  for  themselves,  as  in  an  account  of  the  neb- 
ular hypothesis;  if  the  subject  is  merely  common,  as  for  ex- 
ample the  force  pump,  the  primary  aim  should  be  clearness. 
Pleasing  presentation,  however  desirable,  is  secondary.  No 
amount  of  pleasant  reading  on  the  subject  of  making  photo- 
graphs, the  working  of  periscopes,  the  organization  of  liter- 
ary societies  will  be  of  value  if  at  the  end  the  reader  has  not 
a  well-ordered  idea  of  how  to  go  to  work  or  of  how  the  thing 
of  which  you  treat  is  operated. 

General  Cautions 

For  these  reasons  certain  principles  of  caution  can  be  laid 
down.  The  first  caution  is,  do  not  take  too  much  for  granted 
on  the  reader's  part.  First  of  all  take  stock  of  your  reader 
and  his  knowledge  of  the  subject  and  then  write  in  accord- 
ance with  your  discoveries.  If,  in  explaining  the  bicycle  to 
a  Fiji  Islander,  you  fail  to  note  that  the  two  wheels  are 
placed  tandem  ratlier  than  parallel,  he  may  form  a  thor- 
oughly queer  notion  of  the  machine.  And  your  protest, 
"Why,  I  supposed  he  would  know  that!''  is  in  vain.  This 
caution  does  not  mean  that  you  must  adopt  a  tone  of  con- 
descension, must  say,  "Now  children,"  and  patter  on,  but 
that  you  will  not  omit  any  important  part  of  the  explana- 
tion unless  you  are  sure  that  your  reader  is  acquainted  with 
it.    The  second  caution,  which  is  corollary  with  the  first,  is 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  159 

that  you  do  not  substitute  for  the  gaps  in  the  written  infor- 
mation the  silent  knowledge  that  is  in  your  own  mind.  The 
danger  here  Hes  in  the  fact  that,  knowing  your  subject  well, 
you  will  write  part  of  it  and  think  the  rest.  Having  for  a 
long  time  practiced  the  high  hurdles,  for  example,  when  you 
come  to  explain  them  you  will  run  the  paradoxical  risk  of 
being  so  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  subject  that  you 
will  actually  omit  much  vital  information  and  thus  make 
your  treatment  thin.  And  the  third  caution  is,  avoid  being 
over  technical.  An  expert  can  always  understand  plain 
English;  a  layman,  on  the  other  hand,  can  soon  become 
hopelessly  bewildered  in  a  sea  of  technicalities.  Treatment 
of  technicalities  demands  sense,  therefore;  when  a  term  is 
reasonably  common  its  presence  can  do  no  harm,  but  when 
a  term  is  known  only  to  the  few,  substitute  for  it,  when 
writing  for  the  many,  plain  English,  or  define  your  terms. 

Centralization 

Perhaps  the  greatest  lack  in  expositions  of  this  type  is 
centralization.  A  reader  rises  from  the  account  of  a  cream 
separator  or  a  suspension  bridge  or  the  feudal  system  with 
the  feeling  that  many  cogs  and  wires  and  wheels  and  spouts 
and  lords  and  vassals  are  involved,  but  without  a  clear  cor- 
relation of  all  these  elements  into  a  clear  and  simple  whole. 
Now  a  suspension  bridge  is  much  more  organic  than  a  scrap 
heap,  and  the  feudal  system  than  a  city  directory.  It  is  for 
you  as  the  writer  to  make  this  clear,  to  show  that  all  the 
things  are  related,  that  they  affect  each  other  and  interact. 
For  this  purpose  you  will  find  the  greatest  help  in  the  device 
of  ascertaining  what  the  root  principle  is,  the  fundamental 
notion  or  purpose  of  the  subject  that  you  are  explaining. 
For  example,  to  make  your  reader  see  the  relation  of  the 
various  parts  of  the  tachometer  you  should  discover  and 
present  the  fact  that  the  machine  relies  primarily  on  the 
principle  of  centrifugal  force  as  affecting  the  mercury  that 


160  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

whirls  as  the  automobile  moves.  Once  this  principle  is 
grasped  by  the  reader,  the  various  parts  of  the  mechanism 
assume  their  proper  places  and  relations  and  become  clear. 
Now  obviously  this  root  principle  is  to  be  sought  in  the  sub- 
ject itself;  here  is  no  place  for  an  author  to  let  his  fancy  roam 
where  it  will  without  keeping  an  eye  steadily  upon  the  ma- 
chine or  process.  You  are  trying  to  explain  the  machine, 
not  some  vague  or  fanciful  idea  of  what  the  machine  might 
be  if  it  were  like  what  your  fancy  says;  therefore,  in  the 
words  of  the  good  old  advice,  which  comes  handy  in  most 
writing,  "keep  your  eye  on  the  object,"  which  in  this  case 
will  be  the  machine  or  the  process  or  the  organization.  And 
the  more  complicated  the  mechanism  or  process,  the  more 
necessary  will  be  the  discovery  of  the  root  principle  —  a 
printing  machine,  for  instance,  with  its  amazing  complexity, 
will  be  helped  wonderfully  by  such  a  device,  and  the  reader 
will  welcome  the  device  even  more  than  he  would  in  an 
explanation  of  how,  for  example,  a  fountain  pen  works  — 
though  he  will  be  glad  for  it  in  any  case. 

This  root  principle,  nucleus,  core,  kernel  can  often  be 
stated  in  one  sentence.  You  can  say,  for  instance,  in  speak- 
ing of  bridges  like  those  across  the  East  River,  "A  suspen- 
sion bridge  consists  of  a  roadway  himg  by  wires  from  huge 
cables  which  are  anchored  at  the  ends  and  are  looped  up 
over  one  or  more  high  supports  in  the  stream."  This  sen- 
tence may  not  be  immediately  and  entirely  clear,  but  it 
serves  to  show  quickly  what  relations  parts  have  to  each 
other,  and  to  it  the  reader  may  refer  in  his  mind  when  de- 
tailed treatment  of  the  maze  of  wires  and  bolts  becomes  be- 
wildering. Often  this  sentence  need  not  be  expressed  alone; 
it  should  always  be  thought  out  in  the  writer's  mind. 

If  it  is  expressed,  such  a  sentence  may  stand  at  the  begin- 
ning as  a  sort  of  quick  picture,  or  it  may  come  at  the  end  as 
a  collecting  statement  of  what  has  preceded,  or  at  any  point 
where  it  seems  to  be  of  the  most  value  to  the  reader.    It  may 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  161 

take  various  forms  as,  for  example,  it  may  state  in  essence 
how  the  machine  or  process  works,  is  operated,  or  what  it 
is  for,  or  of  what  it  consists.  If  it  occurs  at  the  end  as  a 
summary,  it  may  be  a  summary  of  facts  in  which  the  points 
made  or  the  parts  described  are  enumerated,  or  it  may  be  a 
summary  of  essence,  in  which  the  significance  or  the  principle 
of  the  thing  is  stated.  In  the  following  examples  the  sen- 
tence will  be  found  near  the  beginning  in  both  cases,  and  in 
the  nature  of  a  statement  of  the  principle  of  operation. 

Of  tools  used  for  cutting,  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of  all  is 
the  oxygen  blow-pipe.  This  is  a  little  tool  something  the  shape  of 
a  pistol  —  which  a  workman  can  easily  hold  in  one  hand.  It  is 
connected  by  a  flexible  tube  to  a  cylinder  of  compressed  oxygen, 
and  by  another  tube  to  a  supply  of  coal-gas.  Thus  a  jet  of  oxygen 
and  a  jet  of  coal-gas  issue  from  the  nozzle  at  the  end  of  the  blow- 
pipe, and,  mingling  there,  produce  a  fine  point  of  flame  burning 
with  intense  heat.  If  this  be  directed  upon  the  edge  of  a  thick  bar 
or  plate  of  steel  it  will  in  a  few  seconds  melt  a  tiny  groove  in  it,  and, 
if  the  pipe  be  moved  along,  that  groove  can  be  developed  into  a  cut 
and  in  that  way  very  thick  pieces  of  steel  can  be  severed  quite  eas- 
ily. The  harder  the  steel,  too,  the  more  easily  it  is  cut,  for  hard 
steel  contains  more  carbon  than  soft,  and  that  has  a  tendency  to 
burn  with  oxygen,  actually  increasing  the  heat  of  the  flame.  A  bar 
of  iron  a  foot  long  can  be  cut  right  down  tlie  center  in  fifty  seconds. 
It  is  said  that  scientific  burglars  have  been  known  to  use  blow-pipes 
to  open  safes  with;  but  a  very  strange  thing  about  them  is  that, 
while  they  will  cut  hard  steel  of  almost  any  thickness  almost  like 
butter,  they  are  completely  baSled  by  a  thin  sheet  of  copper.  The 
reason  of  this  is  that  copper  is  such  a  good  conductor  of  heat  that 
the  heat  of  the  flame  is  conducted  quickly  away,  and  so  the  part  in 
contact  with  the  flame  never  becomes  hot  enough  to  melt."^ 

There  is  another  very  eflBcient  substitute  for  the  dynamite  car- 
tridge, which  may  abolish  blasting  even  in  hard-rock  mines.  It  is  a 
hydraulic  cartridge,  or  an  apparatus  that  works  on  the  principle  of 
the  hydraulic  jack.     Unlike  dynamite,  which  consists  of  a  lot  of 

'  Thomas  W.  Cnrbin:  Engineering  of  To-day.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Sce'.oy, 
Service  &:  Co.,  Loudon. 


162  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

stored  and  highly  concentrated  energy  that  is  let  fly  to  do  what  de- 
struction it  may,  the  hydraulic  cartridge  is  absolutely  inert  and 
devoid  of  potential  energy  when  placed  in  the  blast-hole.  Only 
after  it  is  in  place  is  the  energy  applied  to  it.  This  it  gradually 
accumulates  until  it  acquires  enough  to  burst  open  the  rock  without 
wasting  a  lot  of  energy  in  pulverizing  it.  The  apparatus  is  under 
the  direct  control  of  the  miner  all  the  time.  There  is  nothing  hap- 
hazard about  its  operation. 

The  cartridge  consists  of  a  strong  steel  cylinder,  made  in  various 
sizes.  Disposed  at  right  angles  to  the  length  of  the  cylinder  are  a 
number  of  pistons,  or  rams,  that  may  be  forced  out  laterally  by 
pumping  water  into  the  cylinder.  The  cartridge  is  introduced  into 
the  blast-hole  with  the  rams  retracted.  Then  a  quick-action  pump 
is  operated  to  move  the  rams  out  so  that  they  come  in  contact  with 
the  rock.  After  this,  by  means  of  a  screw-lever  a  powerful  pres- 
sure is  exerted  upon  the  water,  which  forces  out  the  rams  until  the 
rock  gives  way  under  the  strain.^ 

Processes 

The  development  of  this  kind  of  exposition  will  vary  some- 
what according  to  the  nature  of  the  subject.  If  you  are  ex- 
plaining a  process  —  how  to  make  a  campfire,  or  how  to  find 
the  width  of  an  unbridged  river,  or  how  to  make  bread  — 
you  will  naturally  follow  the  chronological  order  and  tell 
what  to  do  first,  what  second,  and  so  on.  If  several  mate- 
rials are  to  be  used  in  the  process,  you  may  enumerate  them 
all  at  the  beginning,  for  collection,  or  state  them  piece  by 
piece  as  they  are  needed.  For  example,  you  may  say,  "  In 
making  a  kite  you  will  need  so  many  pieces  of  such  wood  of 
such  and  such  sizes,  with  paper  or  cloth,  strong  twine,  glue, 
nails,  etc."  You  may  cast  the  whole  process  into  a  personal 
mood  by  telling  how  some  one,  perhaps  yourself,  did  it  on  a 
previous  occasion.  This  method,  if  it  is  judiciously  used, 
adds  interest.    You  must  take  care  not  to  seem  to  encumber 

*  Taken  from  The  Century  Maija-Ane  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  The  Century 
Co, 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  '  163 

obviously  simple  directions,  however,  with  the  machinery  of 
personal  narrative  so  that  the  whole  account  is  longer  than  it 
should  be.  In  case  you  are  treating  some  process  in  which 
mistakes  are  easily  made,  you  can  often  help  the  reader  by 
showing  how  some  one  —  preferably  yourself  —  did  it 
wrongly  and  thereby  came  to  grief .  Or  you  can  state  con- 
cisely what  not  to  do  if  there  is  chance  for  mistake.  In  de- 
veloping films,  for  example,  you  may  warn  the  reader  not  to 
mix  any  of  the  Hypo  with  the  Fixing  Bath;  in  picking  his 
apples  not  to  break  the  twigs  of  the  tree;  in  paddling  a  canoe 
through  rapids  not  to  become  excited.  Note  how,  in  the 
account  which  follows  of  how  to  handle  a  punt,  the  author 
makes  the  material  quite  human  and  personal  —  to  the 
reader's  pleasure. 

You  may  get  yourself  a  tub  or  a  working-boat  or  a  wherry,  a  rob- 
roy  or  a  dinghy,  for  every  craft  that  floats  is  known  on  the  Thames; 
but  the  favorite  craft  are  the  Canadian  canoe  and  the  punt.  The 
canoe  you  will  be  familiar  with,  but  your  ideas  of  a  punt  are  prob- 
ably derived  from  a  farm-buUt  craft  you  have  poled  about  Ameri- 
can duck-marshes  —  which  bears  about  the  same  relationship  to 
this  slender,  half-decked  cedar  beauty  that  a  canal-boat  bears  to  a 
racing-shell. 

During  your  first  perilous  lessons  in  punting,  you  will  probably 
be  in  apprehension  of  ducking  your  mentor,  who  is  lounging  among 
the  cushions  in  the  bow.  But  you  cannot  upset  the  punt  any  more 
than  you  can  discompose  the  Englishman;  the  punt  simply  upsets 
you  without  seeming  to  be  aware  of  it.  And  when  you  crawl  drip- 
ping up  the  bank,  consoled  only  by  the  fact  that  the^Humane  So- 
ciety man  was  not  on  hand  with  his  boat-hook  to  pull  you  out  by 
the  seat  of  the  trousers,  your  mentor  will  gravely  explain  how  you 
made  your  mistake.  Instead  of  bracing  your  feet  firmly  on  the 
bottom  and  pushing  with  the  pole,  you  were  leaning  on  the  pole 
and  pushing  with  your  feet.  When  the  pole  stuck  in  the  clay  bot- 
tom, of  course  it  pulled  you  out  of  the  boat. 

Steering  is  a  matter  of  long  practice.  When  you  want  to  throw 
the  bow  to  the  left,  you  have  only  to  pry  the  stern  over  to  the  right 


164  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

as  you  are  pulling  the  pole  out  of  the  water.  To  throw  the  bow 
to  the  right,  ground  the  pole  a  foot  or  so  wide  of  the  boat,  and  then 
lean  over  and  pull  the  boat  up  to  it.  That  is  not  so  easy,  but 
you  will  learn  the  wrist  motion  in  time.  ^Vhen  all  this  comes 
like  second  nature,  you  will  feel  that  you  have  become  a  part  of 
the  punt,  or  rather  that  the  punt  has  taken  life  and  become  a  part 
of  you. 

A  particular  beauty  of  punting  is  that,  more  than  any  other  sport, 
it  brings  you  into  personal  contact,  so  to  speak,  with  the  landscape. 
In  a  few  days  you  will  know  every  inch  of  the  bottom  of  the  Char, 
some  of  it  perhaps  by  more  intimate  experience  than  you  desire. 
Over  there,  on  the  other  curve  of  the  bend,  the  longest  pole  will  not 
touch  bottom.  Fight  shy  of  that  place.  Just  beyond  here,  in  the 
narrows,  the  water  is  so  shallow  that  you  can  get  the  whole  length 
of  your  body  into  every  sweep.  As  for  the  shrubbery  on  the  bank, 
you  wiU  soon  learn  these  hawthorns,  if  only  to  avoid  barging  into 
them.  And  the  Magdalen  chestnut,  which  spreads  its  shade  so 
beautifully  above  the  water  just  beyond,  becomes  quite  familiar 
when  its  low-reaching  branches  have  once  caught  the  top  of  your 
pole  and  torn  it  from  your  hands.  ^ 

Mechanisms 

If  you  are  explaining  a  mechanism,  you  may  follow  differ- 
ent orders.  You  may  explain  chronologically,  showing  what 
happens  first,  what  next,  and  so  on,  as  in  the  printing  press 
you  would  show  what  happens  first  to  the  paper,  and  then 
what  processes  follow.  Here  you  must  be  careful  not  to 
give  a  long  list  at  the  beginning  of  all  the  different  parts  of 
the  machine.  Such  a  list  bewilders  and  is  rarely  of  any  real 
value.  Instead  of  saying,  for  example,  that  a  reaper  and 
binder  consists  of  a  reel,  a  knife,  a  canvas  platform  and  belt, 
etc.,  you  will  do  well  to  simplify  at  the  beginning,  and  say, 
perhaps,  that  from  the  front  the  machine  looks  like  a  dash 

with  an  inverted  V  at  one  end:  thus: A  and  then  go 

on  to  relate  the  various  parts  to  this  simple  scheme.    The 

1  John  Corbin;  An  American  at  Oxford.    Houghton  MiflBin  Company,  Boston,  publishers. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  165 

brief  paragraph  which  follows  illustrates  the  principle  in  a 
slight  space. 

The  stone-boat  is  a  peculiar  vehicle  incidental  to  America,  and 
has  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  with  the  water.  It  resembles  a  huge 
metal  tray  or  shovel  hauled  by  a  team  of  horses.  And  its  special 
path  is  as  novel  as  the  boat  itself.  It  is  only  two  wooden  lines 
fashioned  from  tree-logs  adzed  roughly  flat  on  the  upper  side,  well 
greased,  and  laid  promiscuously  and  roughly  parallel  on  the  ground. 
The  stone  is  prized  and  levered  on  to  the  tray,  and  hauled  with  a 
speed,  which,  bearing  in  mind  the  primitive  road,  is  astonishing, 
to  the  dump,  where  a  sharp  swing  round  on  the  part  of  the  horses 
pitches  the  mass  down  the  bank.^ 

If  you  prefer,  you  can  use,  instead  of  the  chronological 
order,  the  device  of  showing  what  the  need  was  for  the  ma- 
chine and  how  it  fills  the  need,  or  what  the  object  of  the 
machine  is  and  how  it  accomplishes  that  object.  An  expla- 
nation of  the  cotton  gin  might  present  the  woeful  waste  of 
time  before  the  gin  was  invented  and  then  show  how  the  in- 
vention annuls  that  waste.  One  of  the  periscope  might 
state  the  object  of  invisible  observation  and  then  show 
how,  by  tubes  and  mirrors,  this  object  is  accomplished.  Or 
finally,  as  a  third  general  method,  you  may  state  the  root 
principle  and  then  expand  in  detail.  With  this  scheme  you 
might  state  that  the  piano  is  an  instrument  in  which  felt 
hammers  strike  metal  strings  that  are  stretched  across  a 
sounding  board,  and  then  go  on  to  show  the  significance,  as 
related  to  this  notion,  of  keys,  pedals,  music  rest,  and  other 
details.  Often  this  method  is  the  most  helpful  for  a  reader, 
since  it  gives  him  at  once  a  nucleus  of  theory  round  which  he 
can  group  the  details  with  immediate  or  rapid  understanding 
of  their  relations  and  significance.  In  so  simple  a  machine  as 
the  ice  cream  freezer  to  introduce  names  like  "dasher"  with- 
out previous  warning  may  result  in  momentary  confusion, 

*  F.  A.  Talbot:  The  Making  of  a  Great  Canadian  Railway.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers' 
Seeley,  Service  &  Co.,  London. 


166  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

whereas  if  the  principle  is  stated  at  the  beginning,  and  the 
reader  knows  that  the  object  is  to  bring  the  cream  into  con- 
tact with  the  coldest  possible  surface  so  as  to  produce  speed 
in  freezing,  the  "dasher,"  when  mentioned,  is  at  once  sig- 
nificant. The  description  and  explanation  of  a  track-layer, 
which  follows,  is  so  made  as  to  be  both  clear  and  interesting. 

The  track-layer  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  tools  with  which 
the  railway-builder  carries  out  his  epoch-making  work.  It  is  a 
cumbersome,  ungainly,  and  fearsome-looking  implement,  but  with 
a  convincing,  grim,  and  business-like  appearan-ce.  From  the  front 
it  resembles  a  gallows,  and  for  this  reason  has  earned  the  sinister 
sobriquet  of  "  the  gibbet"  among  certain  members  of  the  engineer- 
ing fraternity.  On  the  front  of  the  truck  there  is  a  lofty  rectangular 
scaffolding  of  rigid  construction,  strongly  based  and  supported  for 
the  hard,  heavy  work  it  has  to  perform.  A  jib  rmis  forward  into 
the  air  from  the  bottom  of  either  leg  to  meet  at  the  outer  extremity 
and  to  form  a  derrick.  The  car  on  which  the  structure  is  mounted 
carries  a  number  of  small  steam-engines,  each  of  which  has  to  per- 
form a  particular  function,  while  at  the  commanding  point  high 
up  on  the  rectangular  construction  is  a  small  bridge,  from  which 
the  man  in  control  of  the  machine  carries  out  his  various  tasks  and 
controls  the  whole  machine.  Ropes,  hooks,  and  pulleys  are  found 
on  every  side,  and  though,  from  the  cursory  point  of  view,  it  ap- 
pears an  intricate  piece  of  mechanism,  yet  its  operation  is  absurdly 
simple. 

This  machine  constitutes  the  front  vehicle  of  the  train,  with  the 
bridge  facing  the  grade  and  the  projecting  boom  overhanging  the 
track.  Immediately  behind  are  several  trucks  piled  high  with  steel 
rails,  fish-plates  to  secure  connection  between  successive  lengths  of 
rails,  spikes,  and  other  necessaries.  Then  comes  the  locomotive, 
followed  by  a  long  train  of  trucks  laden  with  sleepers.  On  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  train,  level  with  the  deck  of  the  trucks,  extends  a 
continuous  trough,  with  its  floor  consisting  of  rollers.  It  reaches 
from  the  rearmost  car  in  the  train  to  40  or  50  feet  in  advance  of  the 
track-layer,  the  overhanging  section  being  supported  by  ropes  and 
tackle  controlled  from  the  track-layer  truck  whereby  the  trough 
can  be  raised  and  lowered  as  desired. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  167 

The  appliance  is  operated  as  follows.  The  engine  pushes  the 
Jore-part  of  the  train  slowly  forward  until  the  end  of  the  last  rail 
laid  is  approached.  The  rollers  in  the  trough,  which  is  in  reality  a 
mechanical  conveyor,  are  set  in  motion.  Then  the  gangs  of  men 
stationed  on  the  rear  trucks  with  might  and  main  pitch  the  bulky 
sleepers  into  the  trough.  Caught  up  by  the  rollers,  the  ties  are 
whirled  along  to  the  front  of  the  train,  and  tumble  to  the  ground 
in  a  steady,  continuous  stream.  As  they  emerge,  they  are  picked 
up  by  another  gang  of  men  who  roughly  throw  them  into  position 
on  to  the  grade.  Other  members  of  the  gang,  equipped  with  axes 
and  crowbars,  push,  pull,  haul,  and  prize  the  ties  into  their  relative 
positions  and  at  equal  distances  apart. 

When  thirty  or  forty  sleepers  have  been  deposited  in  this  man- 
ner, a  pair  of  steel  rails  are  picked  up  by  the  booms  from  the  trucks 
behind  the  track-layer,  are  swung  through  the  air,  and  lowered.  As 
they  near  the  ground  ready  hands  grasp  the  bar  of  steel,  steady  it  in 
its  descent,  and  guide  it  into  its  correct  position.  The  gauge  is 
brought  into  play  dexterously,  and  before  one  can  realize  what  has 
happened  the  men  are  spiking  the  pair  of  rails  to  the  sleepers,  have 
slipped  the  bolts  into  the  fish-plates  connecting  the  new  rail  with  its 
fellow  already  in  position,  and  the  track-layer  has  moved  slowly 
forward  some  13  or  16  feet  over  a  new  unit  of  track,  meanwhile 
disgorging  further  sleepers  from  the  mouth  of  the  trough. 

The  noise  is  deafening,  owing  to  the  clattering  of  the  weighty 
baulks  of  timber  racing  over  the  noisy  rollers  in  the  conveyor,  the 
rattle  of  metal,  and  the  clang-clang  of  the  hammers  as  the  men  with 
powerful  strokes  drive  home  the  spikes  fastening  the  rail  to  its 
wooden  bed,  and  the  hissing  and  screeching  of  steam.  Amid  the 
silence  of  the  wilderness  the  din  created  by  the  track-layer  at  work 
is  heard  for  some  time  before  you  can  gain  a  glimpse  of  the  machine 
train.  The  men  speak  but  little,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they 
could  scarcely  make  themselves  heard  if  they  attempted  conversa- 
tion. Each  moves  with  wonderful  precision,  like  a  part  of  an  intri- 
cate machine. 

In  this  way  the  rail  creeps  forward  relentlessly  at  a  steady,  mo- 
notonous pace.  The  lines  of  sleepers  and  rails  on  the  track  disappear 
with  amazing  rapidity,  and  the  men  engaged  in  the  task  of  charg- 
ing the  convey  or- trough  and  swinging  the  rails  forward,  appear  to 


168  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

be  in  a  mad  race  with  steam-driven  machinery.  The  perspiration 
rolls  ofif  their  faces  in  great  beads,  and  they  breathe  heavUy  as  they 
grasp  and  toss  the  weighty  strips  of  timber  about  as  if  they  were 
straws.  There  is  no  pause  or  diminution  in  their  speed.  If  they 
ease  up  at  all  the  fact  becomes  evident  at  the  front  in  the  course  of 
a  few  seconds  in  a  unanimous  outcry  from  the  gangs  on  the  grade 
for  more  material,  which  spurs  the  lagging  men  on  the  trucks 
behind  to  greater  effort.  The  only  respite  from  the  exhausting^ 
labor  is  when  the  trucks  have  been  emptied  of  all  rails  or  sleepers 
and  the  engine  has  to  run  back  for  a  further  supply,  or  when  the 
hooter  rings  out  the  time  for  meals  or  the  cessation  of  labor. 

The  track-layer  at  work  is  the  most  fascinating  piece  of  machin- 
ery in  the  building  of  a  large  railway.  The  steam-shovel  may  be 
alluring,  and  the  sight  of  a  large  hill  of  rock  being  blown  sky-high 
may  compel  attention,  but  it  is  the  mechanical  means  which  have 
been  evolved  to  carry  out  the  last  phase  —  the  laying  of  the  metals 
—  that  is  the  most  bewitching.  One  can  see  the  railway  growing 
in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word  —  can  see  the  thin,  sinuous  ribbon 
of  steel  crawlmg  over  the  flat  prairie,  across  spidery  bridges,  through 
ravine-like  rock-cuts,  gloomy  tunnels,  and  along  lofty  embank- 
ments. Now  and  again,  when  the  apparatus  has  secured  a  full 
complement  of  hands,  and  every  other  factor  is  conducive,  the  men 
will  set  to  work  in  more  deadly  earnest  than  usual,  bent  on  setting 
up  a  record.  Races  against  time  have  become  quite  a  craze  among 
the  crews  operating  the  track-layer  on  the  various  railways  through- 
out America,  and  consequently  the  men  allow  no  opportunity  to 
set  up  a  new  record,  when  all  conditions  are  favorable,  to  slip  by.^ 

Organizations 

If  you  are  explaining  an  organization  you  may  again  use 
the  chronological  order  and  show  how  the  organization  came 
about  as  it  is,  how  for  example  the  Federal  Reserve  Board 
was  appointed  for  certain  reasons  each  of  which  has  its  cor- 
respondent in  the  constitution  of  the  board.  Such  a  method 
is  useful  in  explaining  the  feudal  system,  the  college  fra- 

'  F.  A.Talbot:  The  Making  of  a  Great  Canadian  Railway.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers, 
Seeley,  Service  &  Co.,  Loudou. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  169 

ternity,  the  national  convention  of  a  political  party.  Or, 
finally,  you  can  state  the  root  idea,  sometimes  appearing 
as  pm-pose  or  significance,  and  then  expand  it,  A  labor 
imion,  thus  treated,  is  a  body  of  men  who  individually 
have  slight  power  of  resisting  organized  capital,  but  can 
collectively  obtain  their  rights  and  demands. 

Aids  in  Gaining  Clearness 

Clearness  then,  through  centralization,  is  the  all-impor- 
tant necessity  of  expositions  of  this  type.  To  aid  in  gaining 
this  quality  you  will  do  well  to  avoid  technical  terms,  as  has 
already  been  mentioned.  You  can  make  use  of  graphic 
charts  when  they  will  be  useful,  so  long  as  they  are  not 
merely  a  lazy  device  for  escaping  the  task  of  writing  clearly. 
Some  machines,  such  as  the  printing  press  or  the  rock  drill, 
defy  explanation  without  charts  and  plates.  Textbooks 
often  wisely  make  use  of  this  device.  You  can  also  use  fa- 
miliar illustrations,  as  the  one  here  used  of  the  reaper  and 
binder  or  the  one  likening  Brooklyn  Bridge  to  a  letter  H 
with  the  sides  far  apart,  the  cross  piece  extended  beyond  the 
sides,  and  a  cable  looped  over  the  tops  of  the  sides.  Such 
illustrations  at  the  beginning  of  the  whole  or  sections  are 
useful  in  helping  the  reader  to  visualize.  Another  important 
aid  to  clearness  is  to  take  care  that  nothing  is  mentioned  for 
which  the  way  has  not  been  prepared.  Just  as  in  a  play  we 
insist  that  the  action  of  a  character  be  consistent,  that  a 
good  man  do  not  suddenly  commit  wanton  murder,  and  that 
the  villain  do  not  suddenly  appear  saintly,  so  we  rightly 
demand  that  we  be  not  suddenly  confronted  with  a  crank, 
wheel,  office,  or  step  in  a  process  which  bewilders  us.  You 
ought  to  write  so  that  your  reader  will  never  pucker  his  brow 
and  say,  "What  is  this?"  And  when  a  detail  has  some  spe- 
cial bearing,  introduce  it  at  the  significant  point.  To  have 
told  little  Johnny  in  the  beginning  that  he  must  keep  his 
chemicals  away  from  flame  would  have  avoided  explosion 


170  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

and  death;  to  declaim  loudly  after  the  explosion  is  of  no 
value.  And  finally,  from  a  purely  rhetorical  standpoint, 
make  careful  transition  from  section  to  section  so  that  the 
reader  will  know  exactly  where  divisions  occur,  and  make 
liberal  use  of  summaries  whenever  they  may  be  useful  with- 
out being  too  cumbersome. 

Notice  how,  in  the  following  paragraph,  the  writer  has 
given  the  gist  of  the  machines  so  that,  if  he  wishes  to  expand 
and  make  a  full  treatment,  he  will  still  have  a  nucleus  which 
will  considerably  facilitate  the  reader's  understanding. 

Continuous  dredges  are  of  four  types  —  the  ladder,  the  hy- 
draulic, the  stirring,  and  the  pneumatic  dredges.  The  ladder 
dredge  excavates  the  bottom  by  means  of  a  series  of  buckets  run- 
ning with  great  velocity  along  a  ladder.  The  buckets  scrape  the 
soil  at  the  bottom,  raise  the  debris  to  the  surface  and  discharge  it 
into  barges  or  conveyors  so  as  to  send  it  to  its  final  destination. 
The  hydraulic  dredge  removes  the  material  from  the  bottom  by 
means  of  a  large  centrifugal  pump  which  draws  the  materials, 
mixed  with  water,  into  a  suction  tube  and  forces  them  to  distant 
points  by  means  of  a  long  line  of  pipes.  The  stirring  dredges  are 
those  employed  in  the  excavation  of  soils  composed  of  very  finely 
divided  particles;  they  agitate  the  soils  and  the  material  thus 
brought  into  suspension  is  carried  away  by  the  action  or  current  of 
water.  The  pneumatic  dredges  are  those  in  which  the  material 
from  the  bottom  is  forced  into  the  suction  tube  and  thence  into  the 
discharging  pipe,  by  the  action  of  continuous  jets  of  compressed 
air  turned  upward  into  the  tube.^ 

Notice  also  the  care  with  which  the  author  of  the  para- 
graph which  follows  and  explains  the  phonopticon  states 
early  in  his  treatment  the  scientific  basis  for  the  operation 
of  the  machine,  without  knowing  which  a  reader  would  be 
hopelessly  confused  to  understand  how  the  machine  could 
possibly  do  what  the  author  says  it  does. 

I  Charles  Prelini:  Dredges  and  Dredying.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  D.  Van  Nostrand 
Company,  New  York  City. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  171 

The  element  selenium,  when  in  crystalline  form,  possesses  the 
peculiar  property  of  being  electro-sensitive  to  light.  It  is  a  good  or 
bad  conductor  of  electricity  according  to  the  intensity  of  the  light 
that  falls  upon  it,  and  its  response  to  variations  of  illumination  is 
virtually  instantaneous. 

This  interesting  property  has  been  utilized  in  a  wide  variety  of 
applications,  ranging  from  the  transmission  of  a  picture  over  a  tele- 
graph line  to  the  automatic  detection  of  comets;  but  by  far  the  most 
marvelous  application  is  that  of  the  phonopticon.  ...  It  is  an 
apparatus  that  will  actually  read  a  book  or  a  newspaper,  uttering 
a  characteristic  combination  of  musical  sounds  for  every  letter  it 
scans. 

The  principle  of  operation  is  not  difficult  to  understand.  A  row 
of,  say,  three  tiny  selenium  crystals  is  employed,  each  crystal  form- 
ing part  of  a  telephone  circuit  leading  to  a  triple  telephone-receiver. 
In  each  circuit  there  is  an  interrupter  that  breaks  up  the  current 
into  pulsations,  or  waves,  of  sufficient  frequency  to  produce  a 
musical  note  in  the  receiver.  The  frequency  differs  in  the  three  cir- 
cuits, so  that  each  produces  its  characteristic  pitch.  Although  the 
conductivity  of  selenium  is  increased  by  intensifying  its  illumina- 
tion, the  electrical  connections  in  this  apparatus  are  so  chosen  that 
while  the  crystals  are  illuminated  no  sounds  are  heard  in  the  tele- 
phone, but  when  the  crystals  are  darkened,  there  is  an  instant 
audible  response. 

The  apparatus  is  placed  upon  the  printed  matter  that  is  to  be 
read,  with  the  row  of  crystals  disposed  at  right  angles  to  the  line  of 
type.  The  paper  directly  under  the  crystals  is  illuminated  by  a 
beam  of  light.  This  is  reflected  from  the  unprinted  part  of  the 
paper  with  sufficient  intensity  to  keep  the  telephone  quiet,  but 
when  the  crystals  are  moved  over  the  black  printing,  the  light  is 
diminished,  and  the  crystals  lose  their  conductivity,  causing  the 
telephone  to  respond  with  a  set  of  sounds  which  vary  with  the  shape 
of  the  letter.  Suppose  the  apparatus  was  being  moved  over  the 
letter  V,  the  upper  crystal  would  encounter  the  letter  first,  then 
the  middle  one  would  respond,  next  the  lower  one  would  come  into 
action  for  an  instant,  followed  by  a  second  response  of  the  middle 
crystal  and  a  final  response  of  the  upper  crystal.  A  set  of  notes 
would  be  sounded  somewhat  after  this  fashion:  me,  re,  do,  re,  mi. 


172  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  sound  combination  with  such  letters  as  S  and  O  is  more  com- 
plicated but  it  is  distinguishable.  When  we  read  with  the  natural 
eye  we  do  not  spell  out  the  words  letter  by  letter,  but  recognize 
them  by  their  appearance  as  a  whole.  In  the  same  way  with  the  me- 
chanical eye  entire  words  can  be  recognized  after  a  little  practice. 

Of  course  the  phonopticon  is  yet  in  the  laboratory  stages,  but 
it  offers  every  prospect  of  practical  success,  and  its  possibilities  are 
untold.  It  is  quite  conceivable  that  the  apparatus  may  be  elabo- 
rated to  such  an  extent  that  a  blind  man  may  see  (by  ear)  where  he 
is  going.  His  world  may  never  be  bathed  in  sunshine,  but  he  may 
learn  to  admire  the  beauties  of  nature  as  translated  from  light  into 
music.^ 

Aids  in  Gaining  Interest 

If  mere  clearness  alone  were  the  only  quality  to  strive  for, 
this  kind  of  writing  might  remain,  however  useful,  eternally 
dull  except  to  one  who  is  vitally  interested  in  the  facts,  how- 
ever they  are  treated.  But  for  this  there  is  no  need;  no  rea- 
son exists  why  you  should  not  make  this  kind  of  writing 
attractive.  For  you  can,  in  addition  to  making  a  machine 
clear,  endow  it  with  life;  in  addition  to  enumerating  the  steps 
in  a  process,  make  it  a  fascinating  adventure.  Suppose  that 
you  are  explaining  how  to  learn  to  swim  —  is  not  the  thought 
of  waving  one's  arms  and  legs  in  dreamy  or  frantic  rhythm 
as  he  lies  prone  across  the  piano  bench  humorous?  Why, 
then,  exclude  the  humor.'*  And  is  not  the  person  who  is  try- 
ing to  learn  much  alive,  with  the  pit  of  his  stomach  nervously 
aware  of  the  hardness  of  the  bench?  Why,  then,  make  him 
a  wooden  automaton,  or  worse,  a  dead  agent?  So  long  as 
you  do  not  obscure  the  point  that  the  reader  should  note,  all 
the  life,  all  the  humor  of  which  you  and  the  process  are  ca- 
pable should  be  introduced.  Just  so  with  a  machine.  You 
can  explain  the  engine  of  an  airship  so  that  the  reader  will 

'  Taken  from  The  Century  Magazine  by  permission  of  the  publishers.  The  Century 
Co. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  ^  173 

exclaim,  "  I  see";  what  you  ought  to  do  is  so  to  explain  the 
engine  that  he  will  say,  "I  see,  and  bless  you,  I'd  like  to  see 
one  go!"  You  ought  to  make  the  beautiful  efficiency,  the 
exquisite  humming  life  of  the  thing,  its  poise,  its  athletic 
trimness  so  take  hold  of  the  reader  that  his  imagination  will 
be  fired,  his  interest  thoroughly  aroused. 

Now  this  you  cannot  do  by  thrusting  in  extraneous  matter 
to  leaven  the  lump.  Webster  in  the  Senate  did  not  introduce 
vaudeville  to  enliven  his  Reply  to  Hayne,  but  he  found  in  the 
subject  itself  the  interest.  First  of  all,  then,  study  your 
machine,  your  process,  your  organization,  until  you  see 
what  its  quality  is,  its  spirit,  until  you  are  yourself  aware  of 
its  life,  and  then  make  this  live  for  your  reader.  A  rail- 
road locomotive  should  be  made  thrilling  with  its  pomp  and 
power,  a  military  movement  should  be  made  an  exquisitely 
quick  piece  of  living  constructive  work,  a  submarine  should 
have  all  the  craft  and  the  romance  of  a  haunting  redskin,  the 
roasting  of  a  goose  should  be  made  a  process  to  rouse  the 
joys  of  gluttony  forevermore.  Now  to  do  this  will  require 
exercise  of  the  imagination,  and  if  you  find  yours  weak  your 
first  duty  is  to  develop  it.  If  it  is  strong  and  active,  on  the 
other  hand,  allow  it  free  play,  only  watching  lest  it  may 
obscure  the  subject  —  for  clearness  is  always  first.  There 
need,  however,  be  no  discrepancy  between  the  two  qualities. 
The  following  extract  from  an  essay  by  Mr.  Dallas  Lore 
Sharp  illustrates  the  possibilities  of  both  interest  and  truth. 

Any  Child  Can  Use  It 

THE  PERFECT  AUTOMATIC  CARPET-LAYER 

No  more  carpet-laying  bills.  Do  your  own  laying.  No 
wrinkles.  No  crowded  corners.  No  sore  knees.  No  pounded 
fingers.  No  broken  backs.  Stand  up  and  lay  your  carpet  with 
the  Perfect  Automatic.  Easy  as  sweeping.  Smooth  as  put- 
ting paper  on  the  wall.  You  hold  the  handle  and  the  Perfect 
Automatic  does  the  rest.     Patent  Applied  For.     Price 


174  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

—  but  it  was  not  the  price!  It  was  the  tool  — a  weird  hybrid 
tool,  part  gun,  part  rake,  part  catapult,  part  curry-comb,  fit 
apparently  for  almost  any  purpose,  from  the  business  of  blunder- 
buss to  the  office  of  aa  apple-picker.  Its  handle,  which  any 
child  could  hold,  was  somewhat  shorter  and  thicker  than  a  hoe- 
handle,  and  had  a  slotted  tin  barrel  on  its  ventral  side  along 
its  entire  length.  Down  this  barrel,  their  points  sticking 
through  the  slot,  moved  the  tacks  in  single  file  to  a  spring- 
hammer  close  to  the  floor.  This  hammer  was  operated  by  a 
lever  or  tongue  at  the  head  of  the  handle,  the  connection  be- 
tween the  hammer  at  the  distal  end  and  the  lever  at  the  proxi- 
mal end  being  effected  by  means  of  a  steel-wire  spinal  cord 
down  the  dorsal  side  of  the  handle.  Over  the  fist  of  a  hammer 
spread  a  jaw  of  sharp  teeth  to  take  hold  of  the  carpet.  The 
thing  could  not  talk;  but  it  could  do  almost  anything  else,  so 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  was  it  made. 

As  for  laying  carpets  with  it,  any  child  could  do  that.  But  we 
did  n't  have  any  children  then,  and  I  had  quite  outgrown  my 
childhood.  I  tried  to  be  a  boy  again  just  for  that  night.  I 
grasped  the  handle  of  the  Perfect  Automatic,  stretched  with  our 
united  strength,  and  pushed  down  on  the  lever.  The  spring- 
hammer  drew  back,  a  little  trap  at  the  end  of  the  slotted  tin 
barrel  opened  for  the  tack,  the  tack  jumped  out,  turned  over, 
landed  point  downward  upon  the  right  spot  in  the  carpet,  the 
crouching  hammer  sprang,  and  — 

And  then  I  lifted  up  the  Perfect  Automatic  to  see  if  the  tack 
went  in,  —  a  simple  act  that  any  child  could  do,  but  which  took 
automatically  and  perfectly  all  the  stretch  out  of  the  carpet;  for 
the  hammer  did  not  hit  the  tack;  the  tack  really  did  not  get 
through   the  trap;  the  trap  did  not   open  the  slot;   the   slot 

—  but  no  matter.  We  have  no  carpets  now.  The  Perfect 
Automatic  stands  in  the  garret  with  all  its  original  varnish 
on.  At  its  feet  sits  a  half-used  can  of  "Beesene,  the  Prince 
of  Floor  Pastes."  ^ 

Besides  the  devices  that  have  been  mentioned  you  can  use 
that  of  making  the  agents  in  the  action  definite,  real  persons,' 

>  Dallas  Lore  Sharp  :    The  Uills  of  Ilingham,  "The  DusihssGnstet."    Houghton  Mifflin 
Company,  Boston,  publishers. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  175 

and  you  can  make  a  process  seem  to  be  actually  going  on 
before  the  eyes  of  the  reader.  You  can  suffuse  the  whole 
theme  with  a  human  spirit,  for  everything  has  a  human  sig- 
nificance if  only  you  will  find  it. 

Finally,  use  tact  in  approaching  your  reader.  Do  not 
"talk  down"  to  him,  and  do  not  over-compliment  his  intelli- 
gence or  wheedle  him.  Rather  regard  him  as  a  person  de- 
sirous of  knowing,  your  subject  as  a  thing  capable  of  interest, 
and  yourself  as  a  really  enthusiastic  devotee.  Take  this 
attitude,  and  as  long  as  you  make  clear,  so  long  your  chances 
for  success  will  be  good. 

EXERCISES 

I.  1.  Indicate  other  practical  root  principles  beside  the  one  mentioned 
which  a  theme  on  any  of  the  following  subjects  might  well  try  to 
express. 

1.  How  to  teach  a  dog  tricks  —  the  patience  required. 

2.  How  to  learn  to  swam  —  the  humor,  or  the  grim  determina- 
tion. 

3.  How   to   manage   an   automobile  —  the   cool-headedness   re- 
quired. 

'  4.  How  to  find  the  trouble  with  a  balky  engine  —  the  careful, 
patient,  unangered  searching. 

6.  How  to  make  an  exquisite  angel  cake  —  the  delicacy  necessary. 

'  6.  A  steel  mill  —  the  power  displayed. 

7.  The  aeroplane  motor  —  its  concentrated  energy. 

8.  The  reaper  and  binder  —  the  cooperation  of  parts. 

9.  The  camera  —  its  sensitiveness. 

10.  The  adding  machine  —  the  uncanny  sureness  of  it. 

11.  The  United  States  Supreme  Court  —  its  deliberateness. 

12.  The  feudal  system  —  its  picturesque  injustice. 

13.  The  college  literary  society  —  its  opportunities. 

14.  The  Grange  —  its  sensible  usefulness. 

15.  The  Federal  Reserve  Board  —  its  .safety. 

2.  Make  two  or  more  outlines  for  each  subject,' choosing  your  mate- 
rial to  indicate  different  root  principles.  Wlierein  does  the  difference  in 
material  consist?  How  much  material  is  common  to  all  the  outlines 
on  the  same  subject?  Is  this  common  material  made  of  essential  or 
non-essential  facts? 


176  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

II.  Find  some  simplifying  device  such  as  the  one  suggested  for  the  reaper 
and  binder,  for  any  of  the  following  mechanisms,  and  indicate  how  you 
would  relate  the  parts  of  the  machine  to  the  device. 

1.  A  concrete  mixer. 

2.  A  derrick. 

3.  A  vacuum  cleaner. 

4.  A  lawn-mower. 

5.  A  rock-crusher. 

6.  A  pile-driver. 

7.  A  Dover  egg-beater. 

8.  A  hay-tedder. 

9.  A  printing-press. 
10.  An  apple-sorter. 

III.  State,  in  one  complete  sentence,  the  nucleus  from  which  a  theme  treatment 
of  any  of  the  following  subjects  would  grow.  Be  sure  that  this  sentence 
is  sufficiently  inclusive,  has  much  meat.  Mr.  Wilson,  in  WTiting  of  the 
National  House  of  Representatives,  evidently  had  a  sentence  like  the 
following  in  mind:  "The  House  of  Representatives  is  an  efficient  busi- 
ness body  the  work  of  which  is  accomplished  largely  through  conmiit- 
tees,  and  centralized  round  a  powerful  speaker." 

1.  The  operation  of  a  sewing  machine. 

2.  The  explanation  of  a  pulley. 

3.  The  explanation  of  a  cream  separator. 

4.  The  principle  of  the  fireless  cooker. 

5.  The  principle  of  the  steam  turbine. 

6.  The  principle  of  the  bread  mixer. 

7.  The  principle  of  the  piano. 

8.  The  principle  of  the  electric  car. 

9.  The  principle  of  the  steel  construction  of  sky  scrapers. 

10.  The  principle  of  the  metal  lathe. 

11.  The  Interstate  Commerce  Commission. 

12.  The  college  fraternity. 

13.  A  national  political  convention. 

14.  The  Roman  Catholic  Church,  or  any  other  church. 

15.  The  modern  orchestra. 

16.  The  Boy  Scout  Movement. 

17.  The  International  Workers  of  the  World. 

18.  An  American  State  University. 

19.  A  stock  exchange. 

20.  A  national  bank. 

21.  How  to  play  tennis. 

22.  How  to  detect  the  tricks  of  fakirs  at  county  fairs. 

23.  How  to  make  a  symmetrical  load  of  hay. 

24.  How  to  run  "  the  quarter." 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  177 

25.  How  to  pack  for  camping. 

26.  How  to  rush  a  freshman. 

27.  How  to  make  money  from  poultry. 

28.  How  to  make  a  successful  iron  casting. 

29.  How  to  plan  a  railroad  terminal  yard. 

30.  How  to  use  the  slide  rule. 
IV.   The  Track  Layer  (page  166). 

1.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  the  text  suggests  avoidance  of  a  beginning 
list  of  parts  of  a  machine,  what  is  your  opinion  of  the  list  in  this 
select  ion  ?  Could  the  explanation  have  been  oaade  as  well  without 
this  list?     Better? 

2.  Would  this  explanation  be  as  well  done  if  the  author  began  with 
hearing  the  machine  at  a  distance,  and  then  approached,  described 
the  appearance  of  the  machine,  and  finally  stated  its  principle? 
Does  the  method,  the  order,  have  any  really  close  connection  with 
the  value  of  the  explanation? 

V.  Write  themes  on  the  following  subjects,  bearing  in  mind  that  the /ac/5 
of  the  subject  remain  constant  even  though  the  readers  may  vitally 
differ  and  therefore  need  widely  varying  treatments. 

1.  The  adding  machine. 

a.  For  a  business  man  who  wishes  to  reduce  expenses  in  his 
ofl5ce. 

b.  For  a  woman  who  has  worked  painfully  at  figures  in  an 
office  for  thirty  years  and  regards  the  process  of  "figuring" 
as  sacred. 

c.  For  a  person  who  says,  "I  just  never  could  get  figures 
straight  anyway!" 

2.  The  typewriter. 

a.  For  a  person  who  complains  that  people  have  n't  brains 
enough  to  read  his  "perfectly  plain  handwriting." 

b.  For  a  person  who  thinks  that  the  clicking  sound  of  the 
machine  will  be  terribly  disagreeable. 

c.  For  an  old  gentleman  who  for  years  clung  to  the  use  of  a 
quill,  and  has  only  within  a  few  years  brought  himself  to 
use  a  fountain  pen. 

S.  Fruit  farming  (limited  to  one  kind  of  fruit). 

a.  For  a  city  man  of  not  too  robust  health  but  of  considerable 
wealth  who  wishes  a  reasonably  quiet  pleasant  existence. 

b.  For  a  young  man  who  has  just  inherited  150  acres  of  fine 
apple  land  but  is  half  inclined  toward  becoming  a  bank  clerk. 

c.  For  a  person  who  has  read  Burroughs  and  thinks  that  the 
poetic  appeal  of  fruit  trees  and  birds  must  be  delightful. 

4.  The  Process  of  Canvassing  for  a  Book. 

a.  For  a  college  student  who  wishes  to  make  much  money. 

b.  For  a  person  who  always  buys  books  from  canvassers  and 
whom  you  wish  to  enlighten  as  to  their  methods. 


178  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

c.  For  a  young  man  who  possesses  a  glib  tongue  which  he 
wishes  to  turn  to  good  financial  use. 

5.  The  Commission  Form  of  City  Government. 

a.  For  a  man  who  wishes  to  improve  the  regime  in  his  city. 

b.  For  a  person  who  contends  that  our  municipal  government 
is  hopelessly  behind  that  of  European  cities. 

c.  For  a  politician  of  doubtful  character  who  has  served  several 
terms  as  mayor  under  the  old  system. 

6.  The  Hague  Peace  Conference. 

a.  For  a  person  who  declares  that  international  coSperation  is 
impossible. 

b.  For  a  person  who  is  seeking  a  precedent  for  a  "League  to 
Enforce  Peace." 

c.  For  a  militarist. 

VI.  Compare  the  two  selections  which  follow,  and  determine  which  is  the 
more  interesting,  and  why.  Would  the  kind  of  treatment  that  the 
second  receives  be  fitting  for  the  first?  Rewrite  each,  in  condensed 
form,  in  the  style  of  the  other. 

It  will,  I  believe,  be  more  interesting  if,  instead  of  talking  of 
launches  in  general,  I  describe  the  launch  of  the  great  British  battle- 
ship Neptune  which  I  witnessed  recently  at  the  famous  naval  dock- 
yard at  Portsmouth. 

It  will,  however,  be  necessary  to  commence  with  a  short  general 
explanation.  As  we  already  know,  the  keel  of  a  vessel  is  laid  upon  a 
row  of  blocks,  and  from  the  keel  it  grows  upwards  plate  by  plate. 
As  it  thus  gets  higher  and  higher  it  has  to  be  supported  laterally,  in 
order  to  keep  it  in  an  upright  position,  and  for  this  reason  strong 
props  or  shores  are  placed  along  the  sides  at  frequent  intervals. 
Now  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  vessel  cannot  move  until  these  shores 
have  been  taken  away,  yet,  if  they  are  removed,  what  is  to  prevent 
the  ship  from  falling  over? 

This  dilemma  is  avoided  by  putting  the  vessel  on  what  is  called  a 
cradle.  It  is  to  my  mind  best  described  by  comparison  with  a 
sledge.  A  sledge  has  a  body  on  which  the  passenger  or  load  is  placed, 
while  under  it  are  runners,  smooth  strips  which  will  slide  easily  over 
the  slippery  siu'faces  of  the  snow,  and  finally  there  is  the  smooth  snow 
to  form  the  track. 

In  the  same  way  the  ship,  when  it  starts  on  its  first  journey,  rests 
upon  the  body  of  the  cradle,  which  in  turn  rests  upon  "runners" 
which  slide  upon  the  "launching  ways,"  the  counterpart  of  the 
smooth  snow. 

These  "ways"  are  long  narrow  timber  stages,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  ship  and  parallel  with  the  keel.  They  are  several  feet  wide,  and 
long  enough  to  reach  right  down  into  the  water.  Needless  to  say, 
they  are  very  strong,  and  the  upper  surface  is  quite  smooth  so  that 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  179 

the  runners  will  slide  easily,  and  there  is  a  raised  edge  on  each  to 
keep  them  from  gliding  off  sideways.  Grease  and  oil  are  plentifully 
supplied  to  these  ways,  and  then  the  "runners"  are  placed  upon 
them.  These,  too,  are  formed  of  massive  baulks  of  timber,  and 
their  underside  is  made  smooth  so  as  to  present  as  good  a  sliding  sur- 
face as  possible  to  the  "ways."  Finally  upon  the  runners  is  built  up 
the  body  of  the  cradle  itself.  Timber  is  again  the  material,  and 
it  is  carefully  fitted  to  the  underside  of  the  ship  so  that,  when  the 
weight  is  transferred  from  the  blocks  under  it  to  the  cradle,  it  will 
rest  evenly  and  with  the  least  possible  strain;  for  it  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that  a  ship  is  designed  to  be  supported  on  the  soft  even  feed 
which  the  water  affords  and  not  on  a  timber  framework.  There  is 
a  danger,  therefore,  of  the  hull  becoming  distorted  while  resting 
upon  the  cradle,  so  it  is  stayed  and  strengthened  inside  with  tem- 
porary timber  work. 

So  far  all  seems  easy,  but  the  weight  of  the  ship  is  still  on  the 
blocks,  while  the  cradle  is  as  yet  doing  practically  nothing.  There 
remains  the  stupendous  task  of  transferring  the  weight  of  the  ship, 
thousands  of  tons,  from  one  to  the  other.     How  can  it  be  done? 

This  is  left  until  the  morning  of  the  day  appointed  for  the  launch, 
and  it  is  then  done  by  a  method  which  is  quite  startling  in  its  sim- 
plicity. The  power  to  be  obtained  by  means  of  a  wedge  has  been 
known  for  ages,  yet  it  is  that  simple  device  which  enables  this  seem- 
ingly impossible  work  to  be  accomplished  with  ease. 

Between  the  "  runners,"  as  I  have  termed  them,  and  the  body  of  the 
cradle  itself,  a  large  number  of  wedges  are  inserted,  perhaps  as  many 
as  a  thousand.  But  of  course  they  cannot  be  driven  one  at  a  time, 
as  a  single  wedge  would  simply  crush  into  the  timber  without  lifting 
the  cradle  at  all;  they  are  therefore  all  driven  at  once.  An  army  of 
men  are  employed,  and  they  all  stand  with  heavy  hammers  ready  to 
strike.  At  the  sound  of  a  gong  a  thousand  hammers  fall  as  one,  and 
a  thousand  wedges  begin  to  raise  the  ship  with  the  cradle  on  it. 
Then  a  second  sound  on  the  gong,  and  a  second  time  a  thousand 
hammers  strike  together;  then  again  and  again,  until  all  the  wedges 
have  been  driven  home  and  the  weight  of  the  ship  has  been  lifted 
partly  off  the  blocks  on  to  the  cradle. 

Then  the  blocks  are  gradually  removed,  a  proceeding  which  is 
rendered  easy  by  the  fact  that  it  has  for  one  of  the  layers  which  com- 
pose it  a  pair  of  wedges  which  can  be  easily  withdrawn  so  as  to  leave 
all  the  other  timbers  free.  There  are  an  enormous  number  of  these 
blocks  to  be  removed  from  under  a  big  ship,  and  the  operation  takes 
considerable  time.  They  are  removed,  too,  gradually,  so  that  the 
whole  of  the  weight  of  the  ship,  which  will  ultimately  rest  upon  the 
cradle,  may  come  on  to  it  by  degrees,  and  so  if  there  should  be  any- 
thing wrong  —  with  the  cradle,  for  instance  —  the  operation  of  re- 
moving the  blocks  could  be  suspended  before  it  had  gone  too  far; 


180  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

for  the  engineer,  though  he  sometimes  does  very  daring  things,  and 
none  more  daring  than  the  launching  of  a  big  ship,  is  really  a  very 
cautious  man,  and  always  likes  to  keep  on  the  safe  side. 

At  Portsmouth  there  is  an  old  custom  in  connection  with  the 
removal  of  the  blocks  from  under  the  ship  which  prescribes  that  the 
men  shall  sing  at  their  work. 

This  is  a  matter  in  which  they  take  a  pride,  so  that  while  the 
blocks  are  being  taken  away  sounds  of  excellent  male  voice  part- 
singing  float  out  from  the  invisible  "choir"  underneath  the  ship. 

The  removal  of  the  blocks  is  so  arranged  that  it  shall  be  completed 
just  before  the  time  for  the  ceremony,  since  when  they  are  all  gone 
the  ship  is  all  "alive,"  straining,  as  it  were,  to  get  away  down  the 
slippery  ways  into  the  water,  and  a  very  slight  mishap  would  be 
sufBcient  to  bring  about  a  premature  launch.  Indeed,  during  these 
last  moments  the  vessel  is  only  held  back  by  a  few  blocks  left  under 
the  bow  —  it  must  be  understood  that  a  ship  commences  its  career 
by  entering  the  water  backwards  —  and  one  timber  prop  on  each 
side,  called  the  "dog-shores." 

These  "dog-shores"  are,  in  effect,  huge  catches  which  keep  the 
ship  from  moving,  and  which  are  released  at  the  right  moment  by 
the  falling  of  two  weights. 

The  launch  of  the  Neptune  took  place  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  for  an  hour  or  so  previously  spectators  had  been 
assembling.  Picture  to  yourself  a  great  steel  vessel  —  merely  the 
hull,  of  course  —  500  feet  long  and  as  high  as  a  three-story  house. 
Close  to  the  bow  is  a  gaily  decorated  platform,  crowded  with  people, 
while  thousands  occupy  stands  on  either  side,  and  still  more  stand 
on  the  open  groimd  and  on  every  point  from  which  a  view  can  be 
obtained.  On  the  bow  of  the  vessel  there  is  hung  a  festoon  of  flow- 
ers with  a  bottle  of  wine  concealed  in  it,  while  round  the  bow  passes 
a  cord,  the  ends  of  which  are  supporting  the  weights  which  hang 
just  over  the  dog-shores. 

As  the  clock  strikes,  the  lady  who  is  to  perform  the  ceremony,  a 
royal  duchess,  arrives  upon  the  scene  and  takes  her  place  on  the 
elevated  platform  close  to  the  bow  of  the  ship.  A  short  religious 
service  is  conducted  by  the  chaplain  of  the  dockyard  assisted  by  the 
choir  of  the  dockyard  church,  and  then  the  duchess  leans  forward, 
takes  hold  of  the  wine  bottle  suspended  by  the  floral  festoon,  draws 
it  towards  her  and  lets  it  go  again.  As  the  bottle  swings  back  and 
dashes  to  pieces  against  the  steel  stem  of  the  vessel,  she  says,  "Suc- 
cess to  the  Neptune  and  all  who  sail  in  her." 

Then  an  oflicial  steps  forward  with  a  mallet  and  chisel.  The 
former  he  hands  to  the  lady,  while  the  latter  he  holds  with  its  edge 
upon  the  cord.  Now  is  the  critical  moment,  and  among  all  the  thou- 
sands of  spectators  not  a  sound  is  to  be  heard.  A  few  blows  of  the 
mallet  upon  the  chisel  and  the  cord  is  severed;  exactly  at  the  same 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  181 

moment  the  two  weights  fall,  the  dog-shores  are  knocked  out  of  the 
way,  and  the  great  vessel  begins  slowly  and  majestically  to  glide 
down  to  the  water.  The  few  remaining  blocks  under  the  bow  are 
pulled  over  by  the  motion  of  the  ship,  and  fall  with  a  crash,  which  is 
soon  drowned  by  the  cheers  of  the  people  and  sounds  of  patriotic  airs 
played  by  the  band. 

There  are  a  large  number  of  sailors  and  workmen  upon  the  ship, 
and  as  soon  as  she  is  in  the  water  they  drop  the  anchors  and  bring 
her  to  rest,  while  tugs  rush  to  her  and  take  her  in  tow  to  the  dock 
where  she  is  to  be  fitted  up. 

But  what  becomes  of  the  cradle?  It  is  made  in  two  halves,  the 
part  on  each  side  being  connected  to  that  on  the  other  by  chains 
passing  under  the  keel,  and  in  these  chains  there  is  a  connection  which 
can  be  released  by  pulling  a  cord  from  the  deck  of  the  ship.  When 
the  ship  has  reached  the  water,  therefore,  and  the  cradle  has  done 
its  work,  the  cord  is  pulled  and  the  two  halves  of  the  cradle,  being 
mainly  of  timber,  float  off,  to  be  captured  and  towed  back  to  shore. 

The  grease  upon  the  launching  ways  and  cradle  is  melted  by  the 
heat  due  to  friction,  and  much  of  it  is  to  be  found  floating  upon  the 
water  immediately  after  the  launch,  so  numbers  of  small  boats  im- 
mediately put  off  and  men  with  scoops  collect  it.^ 

The  word  head  affords  a  good  example  of  radiation.  We  may 
regard  as  the  central  meaning  that  with  which  we  are  most  familiar, 
—  a  part  of  the  body.  From  this  we  get  (1)  the  "top"  of  anything, 
literally  or  figuratively,  whether  it  resembles  a  head  in  shape  (as  the 
head  of  a  cane,  a  pin,  or  a  nail),  or  merely  in  position  of  preeminence 
(as  the  head  of  a  page,  the  head  of  the  table,  the  head  of  the  hall) ; 
(2)  figuratively,  "leadership,"  or  concretely,  "a  leader"  (the  head 
of  the  army,  the  head  of  the  school);  (3)  the  "head"  of  a  coin 
(the  side  on  which  the  ruler's  head  is  stamped);  (4)  the  "source" 
of  a  stream,  "spring,"  "well-head,"  "fountain-head";  (5)  the  hy- 
draulic sense  ("head  of  water");  (6)  a  "promontory,"  as  Flam^ 
borough  Head,  Beechy  Head;  (7)  "an  armed  force,"  a  "troop" 
(now  obsolete);  (8)  a  single  person  or  individual,  as  in  "five  head  of 
cattle";  (9)  the  "main  points,"  as  in  "the  heads  of  a  discourse" 
(also  "notes"  of  such  points);  (10)  mental  power,  "intellectual 
force." 

Here  again  there  is  no  reason  for  deriving  any  of  our  ten  special 
senses  from  any  other.  They  are  mutually  independent,  each  pro- 
ceeding in  a  direct  line  from  the  central  primary  meaning  of  head. 

The  main  process  of  radiation  is  so  simple  that  it  is  useless  to  mul- 
tiply examples.  We  may  proceed,  therefore,  to  scrutinize  its  oper- 
ations in  certain  matters  of  detail. 

In  the  first  place,  we  observe  that  any  derived  meaning  may  itself 

I  Thomas  W.  Corbin:  Engineering  oj  To-day.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Seeley,  Serv 
fee  &  Co.,  London. 


182  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

become  the  source  of  one  or  more  further  derivatives.  It  may  even 
act  as  a  center  whence  such  derivatives  radiate  in  considerable  num- 
bers, precisely  as  if  it  were  the  primary  sense  of  the  word. 

Thus,  in  the  case  of  head,  the  sense  of  the  "top"  of  anything 
immediately  divides  into  that  which  resembles  a  human  head  in 
(1)  shape,  or  (2)  position  merely.  And  each  of  these  senses  may  ra- 
diate in  several  directions.  Thus  from  (1)  we  have  the  head  of  a 
pin,  of  a  nail,  of  a  barrel,  of  an  ulcer,  "a  bud"  (in  Shakespeare); 
from  (2)  the  head  of  a  table,  of  a  hall,  of  a  printed  page,  of  a  sub- 
scription-list. And  some  of  these  meanings  may  also  be  further 
developed.  "The  head  of  the  table,"  for  instance,  may  indicate 
position,  or  may  be  transferred  to  the  person  who  sits  in  that  posi- 
tion. Prom  the  head  of  an  ulcer,  we  have  the  disagreeable  figure  (so 
common  that  its  literal  meaning  is  quite  forgotten),  "to  come  to  a 
head,"  and  Prospero's  "Now  does  my  project  gather  to  a  head," 
in  The  Tempest. 

Sense  No.  2,  the  "forefront"  of  a  body  of  persons,  the  "leader," 
cannot  be  altogether  separated  from  No.  1.  But  it  may  come  per- 
fectly well  from  the  central  meaning.  In  every  animal  but  man  the 
head  actually  precedes  the  rest  of  the  body  as  the  creature  moves. 
At  all  events,  the  sense  of  "leadership"  or  "leader"  (it  is  impossible 
to  keep  them  apart)  has  given  rise  to  an  infinity  of  particular  appli- 
cations and  idiomatic  phrases.  The  head  of  a  procession,  of  an 
army,  of  a  class,  of  a  revolt,  of  a  "  reform  movement,"  of  a  new 
school  of  philosophy  —  these  phrases  all  suggest  personal  leadership, 
but  in  different  degrees  and  very  various  relations  to  the  persons 
who  are  led,  so  that  they  may  all  be  regarded  as  radiating  from  a 
common  center. 

By  a  succession  of  radiations  the  development  of  meanings  may 
become  almost  infinitely  complex.  No  dictionary  can  ever  register 
a  tithe  of  them,  for,  so  long  as  a  language  is  alive,  every  speaker  is 
constantly  making  new  specialized  applications  of  its  words.  Each 
particular  definition  in  the  fullest  lexicon  represents,  after  all,  not 
so  much  a  single  meaning  as  a  little  group  of  connected  ideas,  un- 
consciously agreed  upon  in  a  vague  way  by  the  consensus  of  those 
who  use  the  language.  The  limits  of  the  definition  must  always  be 
vague,  and  even  within  these  limits  there  is  large  scope  for  variety. 

If  the  speaker  does  not  much  transgress  these  limits  in  a  given 
instance,  we  understand  his  meaning.  Yet  we  do  not  and  cannot 
see  all  the  connotations  which  the  word  has  in  the  speaker's  mind 
He  has  given  us  a  conventional  sign  or  symbol  for  his  idea.  Om 
interpretation  of  the  sign  will  depend  partly  on  the  context  or  the 
circumstances,  partly  on  what  we  know  of  the  speaker,  and  partly 
on  the  association  which  we  ourselves  attach  to  the  word  in  question. 
These  considerations  conduct  us,  once  more,  to  the  principle  on 
which  we  have  so  often  insisted.    Once  more  we  are  forced  to  admit 


/  MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  183 

that  language,  after  all,  is  essentially  poetry.  For  it  is  the  function 
of  poetry,  as  Sainte-Beuve  says,  not  to  tell  us  everything,  but  to  set 
our  imaginations  at  work:  "La  poesie  ne  consiste  pas  a  tout  dire, 
mais  a  tout  faire  rever." 

Besides  the  complexity  that  comes  from  successive  radiation, 
there  is  a  perpetual  exchange  of  influences  among  the  meanings 
themselves.  Thus  when  we  speak  of  a  man  as  "  the  intellectual  head 
of  a  movement,"  head  means  "leader"  (No.  3),  but  has  also  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  tenth  sense,  "mind."  If  two  very  different  senses  of 
a  word  are  present  to  the  mind  at  the  same  moment,  the  result  is  a 
pun,  intentional  or  unintentional.  If  the  senses  are  subtly  related, 
so  that  they  enforce  or  complement  each  other,  om*  phrase  becomes 
imaginatively  forcible,  or,  in  other  words,  recognizable  poetry  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  unconscious  poetry  of  language. 

So,  too,  the  sudden  re-association  of  a  derived  sense  with  the  cen- 
tral meaning  of  a  word  may  produce  a  considerable  change  in  effect. 
Head  for  "  leader  "  is  no  longer  felt  as  metaphorical,  and  so  of  several 
other  of  the  radiating  senses  of  this  word.  Yet  it  may,  at  any  mo- 
ment, flash  back  to  the  original  meaning,  and  be  revivified  as  a 
conscious  metaphor  for  the  nonce.  "  He  is  not  the  head  of  his  party, 
but  their  mask";  "  The  leader  fell,  and  the  crowd  was  a  body  with- 
out a  head." 

Radiation  is  a  very  simple  process,  though  its  results  may  become 
beyond  measure  complicated.  It  consists  merely  in  divergent 
specialization  from  a  general  center.  It  is  always  easy  to  follow  the 
spokes  back  to  the  hub.^ 

Write  a  theme  on  any  of  the  following  subjects,  adapting  your  style 
to  the  character  of  the  subject  —  formal  or  informal,  impersonal  or 
personal,  etc. 

In  each  of  these  subjects  discover  the  root  principle  which  will  serve 
as  your  controlling  object,  and  state  it  in  a  sentence.  State  also  how 
you  expect  to  make  the  theme  interesting. 

1.  How  to  handle  a  swarm  of  bees. 

2.  How  a  publicity  campaign  is  managed. 

3.  The  process  of  inoculation. 

4.  The  process  of  fumigation. 

5.  How  an  ingpt  of  steel  is  made. 

6.  The  physiological  process  of  stimulation. 

7.  The  process  of  reforming  criminals. 

8.  How  to  break  into  society. 

9.  How  to  memorize  a  long  sonata. 

10.  How  to  make  a  well. 

11.  The  process  of  civilization. 

>  Greenough  and  Kittredge:  Words  and  Their  Ways  in  English  Speech.     By  courtesy  of 
the  publishers,  The  Macmillan  Company,  New  York  City. 


184  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

12.  How  a  locomotive  is  assembled. 

13.  How  a  torpedo  is  launched. 

14.  How  good  literary  taste  is  acquired. 

15.  The  process  of  naturalization. 

16.  The  process  of  simplification  in  language. 

17.  The  process  of  organizing  a  "clean  up"  campaign. 

18.  How  big  steel  beams  are  put  in  place  on  the  twentieth  story. 

19.  The  process  of  fertilization  of  land. 

20.  The  process  of  inoculating  land  for  alfalfa. 

21.  The  process  of  making  a  trial  balance  sheet. 

22.  How  to  audit  the  accounts  of  a  club,  store,  treasurer,  or  organi- 
zation. 

23.  The  process  of  pasteurization. 

24.  The  process  of  modulation  in  music. 

25.  How  to  fire  a  blast  fun  ace. 

VII.  Write  the  material  containe;'  in  the  explanations  of  the  blow- 
pipe and  the  hydraulic  cartridge  (page  161)  in  the  more  pictur- 
esque form  of  a  personal  experience,  .showing  how  you,  or  some 
one,  used  the  mechanism  for  a  particular  piu"pose.  Which  method 
of  treatment  is  more  effective?  Wliy?  Would  you  be  willing  to  lay 
down  a  general  rule  about  the  method  of  treatment?  If  not,  why 
not? 
VIII.  Use  the  method  employed  to  explain  dredges  (page  170)  to  write  a 
theme  that  shall  discriminate  briefly  the  various  types  of  the  follow- 
ing : 

1.  Valves. 

2.  Tractors. 

3.  Egg-beaters. 

4.  Styles  in  landscape  painting. 

5.  Systems  of  bookkeeping. 

6.  Methods  of  learning  a  foreign  language. 

7.  Chm-ns. 

8.  Methods  of  packing  apples. 

IX.  In  the  following  selection  you  will  find  an  account  of  how  an  engi- 
neering problem  was  solved.  With  this  as  a  model,  MTite  an  account 
of  any  of  the  folloAving: 

1 .  The  Shoshone,  or  Keokuk,  or  Roosevelt  Dam. 

2.  The  Panama  Canal. 

3.  The  Cape  Cod  Canal. 

4.  The  Chicago  Drainage  Canal. 
6.  The  Chicago  Breakwater. 

6.  The  Galveston  Sea  Wall. 

7.  The  Key  West  Railroad. 

8.  The  Mississippi  Levees. 

9.  An  Army  Cantonment. 
10.  A  Shipyard. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  185 

11.  A  Big  City  Subway. 

12.  Some  Development  in  Yoiu"  Own  Town. 

The  construction  of  the  reservoirs  and  aqueduct  for  bringing  a 
daily  supply  of  five  hundred  million  gallons  into  New  York  from 
the  Catskill  Mountains  has  involved  engineering  work  of  great 
magnitude,  and  in  some  cases  of  considerable  perplexity  and  diffi- 
culty. As  it  tiu-ned  out,  the  most  serious  problem  was  encoun- 
tered at  the  Hudson  River,  where  the  engineers  had  to  determine 
upon  the  best  method  for  conducting  the  water  past  that  great 
natural  obstacle. 

Four  alternative  plans  were  considered :  first,  to  lay  steel  pipes 
in  trenches  dredged  across  the  river  bottom;  second,  to  drive  a 
tunnel  through  the  glacial  deposit  in  the  river  bottom;  third,  to 
carry  the  aqueducts  across  the  river  on  a  bridge;  and  lastly,  to 
build  a  huge  inverted  siphon  at  a  depth  sufficient  to  bring  it  en- 
tirely within  the  solid  underlying  rock.  The  last  was  the  plan 
adopted. 

To  determine  the  depth  and  character  of  the  rock,  fifteen  ver- 
tical holes  were  drilled  from  the  surface  of  the  river,  and  two  in- 
clined holes,  of  different  degrees  of  inclination,  were  driven  from 
each  shore.  Six  of  the  vertical  holes  reached  bed  rock,  and  one  of 
them  in  the  center  of  the  river  reached  an  ultimate  depth  of  7G8 
feet,  when  it  had  to  be  abandoned  without  reaching  bed  rock. 
This  boring  developed  the  fact  that  the  present  Hudson  River 
flows  in  an  old  glacial  gorge  which  has  been  filled  up  with  deposits 
of  silt,  sand,  gravel,  clay,  and  boulders  to  a  depth  of  over  800 
feet. 

Now  it  was  realized  that  a  deep-pressure  tunnel,  to  be  perfectly 
reliable,  must  lie  in  absolutely  sound  and  unfissured  rock;  and  since 
it  was  impossible  to  test  the  rock  by  vertical  borings  made  from 
scows  anchored  in  the  river,  the  engineers  determined  to  explore 
the  underlying  material  by  means  of  inclined  borings  driven  from 
either  shore.  Accordingly,  two  shafts  were  sunk  to  a  depth  of 
between  two  and  three  hundred  feet,  and  from  them  two  diamond 
drill  borings  were  started,  which  ultimately  crossed  at  a  depth  of 
1500  feet  below  the  surface  of  the  river.  A  good  rock  was  found 
at  that  level.  To  make  the  survey  more  reliable,  a  second  pair  of 
holes  was  drilled  at  a  less  inclination,  which  crossed  at  a  depth  of 
950  feet  below  the  river  surface.  The  rock  was  found  to  be  per- 
fectly satisfactory,  and  such  water  as  was  found  was  limited  in 
extent  and  due  to  well-understood  geologic  causes. 

It  was  therefore  determined  to  sink  the  east  and  west  shafts  to 
a  depth  of  from  1150  to  1200  feet  below  ground  surface,  and  con- 
nect them  by  a  tunnel  3022  feet  in  length  at  a  depth  of  1100  feet 
below  the  river  surface.    The  shafts  have  been  sunk,  that  on  the 


186  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

West  Shore  to  1153  feet,  the  East  Shore  shaft  to  1185  feet,  and  the 
boring  of  the  tunnel  toward  the  center  of  the  river  has  made  good 
progress,  the  easterly  section  having  advanced  at  the  present  WTit- 
ing  about  260  feet,  and  the  westerly  section  170  feet  from  their 
respective  shafts.  Both  the  shafts  and  the  tunnel  will  be  lined  with 
a  high  grade  of  Portland  cement  concrete  which  will  give  them  a 
finished  internal  diameter  of  14  feet.  The  aqueduct  reaches  the 
Hudson  River  at  an  elevation  of  400  feet  above  mean  water  level. 
Hence  the  total  head  of  water  is  about  1500  feet,  and  the  total 
pressure  on  each  square  foot  of  the  timnel  is  46|  tons,  which  is 
balanced  with  a  wide  margin  of  safety  by  the  weight  of  the  super- 
inciunbent  mass  of  rock,  silt,  and  water.^ 

X.  In  the  following  account  of  an  emotional  and  mental  process  what 
root  principle  do  you  find?  Does  the  author  show  traces  of  influ- 
ence from  the  intended  readers,  the  American  public?  Does  the 
author  take  too  mach  for  granted  in  the  reader,  or  not  enough? 
Does  she  show  tact  in  approaching  the  reader?  Write  the  account 
in  an  impersonal,  abstract  way,  as  if  you  were  reporting  "a  case"  for 
a  statistician,  and  then  give  your  estimate  of  the  two.  What  light 
does  your  estimate  throw  upon  the  advice  to  make  the  actors  in  a 
process  specific? 

How  long  would  you  say,  wise  reader,  it  takes  to  make  an 
American?  By  the  middle  of  my  second  year  in  school  I  had 
reached  the  sixth  grade.  When,  after  the  Christmas  holidays,  we 
began  to  study  the  life  of  Washington,  rimning  through  a  summary 
of  the  Revolution,  and  the  early  days  of  the  Republic,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  all  my  reading  and  study  had  been  idle  until  then.  The 
reader,  the  arithmetic,  the  song  book,  that  had  so  fascinated  me 
until  now,  became  suddenly  sober  exercise  books,  tools  wherewith 
to  hew  a  way  to  the  source  of  inspiration.  When  the  teacher  read 
to  us  out  of  a  big  book  with  many  bookmarks  in  it,  I  sat  rigid  with 
',  attention  in  my  little  chair,  my  hands  tightly  clasped  on  the  edge 
of  my  desk;  and  I  painfully  held  my  breath,  to  prevent  sighs  of 
disappointment  escaping,  as  I  saw  the  teacher  skip  the  parts 
between  bookmarks.  When  the  class  read,  and  it  came  my  turn, 
my  voice  shook  and  the  book  trembled  in  my  hands.  I  could  not 
pronounce  the  name  of  George  Washington  without  a  pause. 
Never  had  I  prayed,  never  had  I  chanted  the  songs  of  David,  never 
had  I  called  upon  the  Most  Holy,  in  such  utter  reverence  and  wor- 
ship as  I  repeated  the  simple  sentences  of  my  child's  story  of  the 
patriot.  I  gazed  with  adoration  at  the  portraits  of  George  and 
Martha  Washington,  till  I  could  see  them  with  my  eyes  shut. 

*  "  The  Catskill  Water  Supply  Tunnel,"  in  the  Scientific  American,  vol.  104.    By  courtesy 
of  The  Scientific  American  Publishing  Company. 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  187 

And  whereas  formerly  my  self-consciousness  had  bordered  on 
conceit,  and  I  thought  myself  an  uncommon  person,  parading  my 
schoolbooks  through  the  streets,  and  swelling  with  pride  when  a 
teacher  detained  me  in  conversation,  now  I  grew  humble  all  at 
once,  seeing  how  insignificant  I  was  beside  the  Great. 

As  I  read  about  the  noble  boy  who  would  not  tell  a  lie  to  save 
himself  from  punishment,  I  was  for  the  first  time  truly  repentan) 
of  my  sins.  Formerly  I  had  fasted  and  prayed  and  made  sacrifia 
on  the  Day  of  Atonement,  but  it  was  more  than  half  play,  in  mim- 
icry of  my  elders.  I  had  no  real  horror  of  sin,  and  I  knew  so  many 
ways  of  escaping  punishment.  I  am  sure  my  family,  my  neigh- 
bors, my  teachers  in  Polotzk  —  all  my  world,  in  fact  —  strove 
together,  by  example  and  precept,  to  teach  me  goodness.  Saintli- 
ness  had  a  new  incarnation  in  about  every  third  person  I  knew. 
I  did  respect  the  saints,  but  I  could  not  help  seeing  that  most  of 
them  were  a  little  bit  stupid,  and  that  mischief  was  much  more  fun 
than  piety.  Goodness,  as  I  had  known  it,  was  respectable,  but 
not  necessarily  admirable.  The  people  I  really  admired,  like  my 
Uncle  Solomon,  and  Cousin  Rachel,  were  those  who  preached  the 
least  and  laughed  the  most.  My  sister  Frieda  was  perfectly  good, 
but  she  did  not  think  the  less  of  me  because  I  played  tricks.  What 
I  loved  in  my  friends  was  not  inimitable.  One  could  be  downright 
good  if  one  really  wanted  to.  One  could  be  learned  if  one  had 
books  and  teachers.  One  could  sing  funny  songs  and  tell  anec- 
dotes if  one  traveled  about  and  picked  up  such  things,  like  one's 
uncles  and  cousins.  But  a  human  being  strictly  good,  perfectly 
wise,  and  unfailingly  valiant,  all  at  the  same  time,  I  had  never 
heard  or  dreamed  of.  This  wonderful  George  Washington  was 
as  inimitable  as  he  was  irreproachable.  Even  if  I  had  never,  never 
told  a  lie,  I  could  not  compare  myself  to  George  Washington; 
for  I  was  not  brave  —  I  was  afraid  to  go  out  when  snowballs 
whizzed  —  and  I  could  never  be  the  First  President  of  the  United 
States. 

So  I  was  forced  to  revise  my  own  estimate  of  myself.  But  the 
I  twin  of  my  new-born  humility,  paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  was  a 
sense  of  dignity  I  had  never  known  before.  For  if  I  found  that  I 
was  a  person  of  small  consequence,  I  discovered  at  the  same  time 
that  I  was  more  nobly  related  than  I  had  ever  supposed.  I  had 
relatives  and  friends  who  were  notable  people  by  the  old  standards, 
—  I  had  never  been  ashamed  of  my  family,  —  but  this  George 
Washington,  who  died  long  before  I  was  born,  was  like  a  king  in 
greatness,  and  he  and  I  were  Fellow  Citizens.  There  was  a  great 
deal  about  Fellow  Citizens  in  the  patriotic  literature  we  read  at  this 
time;  and  I  knew  from  my  father  how  he  was  a  Citizen,  through 
the  process  of  naturalization,  and  how  I  also  was  a  citizen,  by 
virtue  of  my  relation  to  him.    Undoubtedly  I  was  a  Fellow  Citizen, 


188  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

and  George  Washington  was  another.  It  thrilled  me  to  realize 
what  sudden  greatness  had  fallen  on  me;  and  at  the  same  time  it 
sobered  me,  as  with  a  sense  of  responsibility.  I  strove  to  conduct 
myself  as  befitted  a  Fellow  Citizen. 

Before  books  came  into  my  life,  I  was  given  to  star-gazing  and 
day-dreaming.  When  books  were  given  me,  I  fell  upon  them  as  a 
glutton  pounces  on  his  meat  after  a  period  of  enforced  starvation. 
I  lived  with  my  nose  in  a  book,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  alterna- 
tions of  the  sun  and  stars.  But  now,  after  the  advent  of  George 
Washington  and  the  American  Revolution,  I  began  to  dream 
again.  I  strayed  on  the  common  after  school  instead  of  hurrying 
home  to  read.  I  hung  on  fence  rails,  my  pet  book  forgotten  under 
my  arm,  and  gazed  off  to  the  yellow-streaked  February  sunset,  and 
beyond,  and  beyond.  I  was  no  longer  the  central  figure  of  my 
dreams;  the  dry  weeds  in  the  lane  crackled  beneath  the  tread  of 
Heroes. 

What  more  could  America  give  a  child?  Ah,  much  more!  As 
I  read  how  the  patriots  planned  the  Revolution,  and  the  women 
gave  their  sons  to  die  in  battle,  and  the  heroes  led  to  victory,  and 
the  rejoicing  people  set  up  the  Republic,  it  dawned  on  me  gradu- 
ally what  was  meant  by  my  corintry.  The  people  all  desiring  noble 
things,  and  striving  for  them  together,  defying  their  oppressors, 
giving  their  lives  for  each  other  —  all  this  it  was  that  made  my 
country.  It  was  not  a  thing  that  I  understood  ;  I  could  not  go  home 
and  tell  Frieda  about  it,  as  I  told  her  other  things  I  learned  at  school. 
But  I  knew  one  could  say  "  my  country "  and  feel  it,  as  one  felt 
"God"  or  "myself."  My  teacher,  my  schoolmates.  Miss  Dilling- 
ham, George  Washington  himself  could  not  mean  more  than  I  when 
they  said  "  my  country, "  after  I  had  once  felt  it.  For  the  Country 
was  for  all  the  Citizens,  and  I  was  a  Citizen.  And  when  we  stood 
up  to  sing  "America,"  I  shouted  the  words  with  all  my  might.  I 
was  in  very  earnest  proclaiming  to  the  world  my  love  for  my  new- 
foimd  country. 

"I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills." 

Boston  Harbor,  Crescent  Beach,  Chelsea  Square  —  all  was  hal- 
lowed ground  to  me.  As  the  day  approached  when  the  school  was 
to  hold  exercises  in  honor  of  Washington's  Birthday,  the  halls 
resounded  at  all  hours  with  the  strains  of  patriotic  songs;  and  I, 
who  was  a  model  of  the  attentive  pupil,  more  than  once  lost  my 
place  in  the  lesson  as  I  strained  to  hear,  through  closed  doors,  some 
neighboring  class  rehearsing  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner."  If 
the  doors  happened  to  open,  and  the  chorus  broke  out  unveiled  — 

'O!  say,  does  that  Star-Spangled  Banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the  brave?  " 


MECHANISMS  AND  PROCESSES  189 

delicious  tremors  ran  up  and  down  my  spine,  and  I  was  faint  with 
suppressed  enthusiasm.^ 

Write  an  account  of  any  of  the  following  processes  as  processes. 
uf       1.  The  high  school  "star"  learns  in  college  that  other  bright 
people  exist. 

2.  The  first  realization  of  death. 

3.  Becoming  loyal  to  a  school. 

4.  Discovering  pride  of  ancestry. 

5.  Finding  that  classical  music  is  interesting. 

6.  A  despised  person  becomes,  on  acquaintance,  delightful. 

7.  Becoming  reconciled  to  a  new  town,  or  sj'stem  of  government, 
or  catalogue  system  in  a  library. 

8.  Learning  that  not  everything  was  discovered  by  an  American. 

9.  Becoming  aware  that  there  is  a  life  of  thought. 

10.  Becoming  reconciled  to  a  great  loss  of  money  or  friends. 

11.  Deciding  upon  a  new  wall-paper. 

12.  Fitting  into  the  town  circles  after  a  year  away  at  college. 

13.  Discovering  that  some  beliefs  of  childhood  must  be  abandoned. 

14.  Perceiving  that  you  really  agree  with  some  one  with  whom  you 
have  been  violently  squabbling. 

15.  The  literary  person  finds  attractiveness  in  engineering  and 
agriculture  —  and  vice  versa. 

16.  Working  out  a  practical  personal  philosophy  of  life. 

17.  Finding  a  serious  motive  in  life. 

18.  Determining  upon  a  tactful  approach  to  a  "touchy"  person. 

19.  Acquiring  the  college  point  of  view  in  place  of  the  high-school 
attitude. 

20.  Discovering  one's  provincialism. 

21.  Discovering  one's  racial  or  national  loyalty. 

22.  Finding  out  that  the  world  does  not  depend  on  any  individual, 
but  goes  ahead,  whether  he  lives  or  dies. 

Mary  Antin:  The  Promised  Land.    Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Boston,  publishers. 


CHAPTER  VI 
CRITICISM 

Few  of  us  pass  a  day  without  answering  such  questions 
as,  "What  do  you  think  of  the  Hudson  car?"  or,  "How  did 
Kreisler's  playing  strike  you?"  or,  "What  is  your  opinion  of 
the  work  of  Thackeray  or  Ahce  Brown  or  Booth  Tarking- 
ton?"  or,  "Do  you  hke  the  X  disc  harrow?"  When  we  are 
among  intimate  friends  we  give  our  opinions,  based  on  our 
personal  reaction  to  the  subject  of  inquiry  or  on  our  impar- 
tial estimate  of  it  as  an  automobile,  a  musical  performance, 
a  collection  of  books,  or  an  agricultural  machine.  Many  of 
us  give  a  large  space  in  our  conversation  to  such  estimates 
on  all  conceivable  subjects.  And,  for  purposes  of  insignifi- 
cant conversation,  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not. 
Accused  of  making  "  Criticism  "  in  the  formal  sense,  however, 
many  of  us  should  recoil  with  terrified  denial.  But  that  is 
exactly  what  we  are  doing,  whether  we  praise  or  blame,  ac- 
cept or  reject,  so  long  as  we  base  our  opinion  on  sincere  per- 
sonal or  sound  principles,  we  criticize.  For  criticism  is  the 
attempt  to  estimate  the  worth  of  something  —  object  or  idea  — 
either  abstractly  on  a  basis  of  principles  and  relations,  or  per- 
sonally on  the  basis  of  our  reactions  to  the  subject  of  criticism. 
That  is,  we  may,  for  example,  criticize  the  roads  of  New 
York  State  on  the  basis  of  what  a  road  is  for  and  how  well 
these  roads  serve  their  purpose,  or  we  may  take  as  basis  the 
inspiration,  the  keen  ecstasy  that  we  feel  as  we  skim  over 
the  smooth  boulevard.  So  long  as  our  notions  of  good  roads 
are  sound,  so  long  as  we  react  sensibly,  with  balance,  to  the 
smooth  rounding  way,  we  make  good  criticism,  we  judge  the 
worth  of  the  subject  of  criticism  and  find  it  either  good  or 
bad. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  this  criticism  is  something  more  than 


CRITICISM  191 

mere  comment,  than  mere  off-hand  remarks.  The  old  saying 
is,  "Anybody  can  say  sovietking  about  anything T''  An  off- 
hand utterance  may  tell  the  truth ;  we  cannot  be  sure  that  it 
will.  Only  when  we  have  a  well-considered  basis  of  either 
principle  or  personal  feeling  can  we  be  at  all  certain  of  our 
opinions. 

Now  the  range  in  which  our  opinions,  our  criticisms,  may 
be  expressed,  is  as  wide  as  human  thought  and  accomplish- 
ment. We  sometimes  think  of  criticism  as  being  confined  to 
literature  and  art,  and  speak  of  literary  criticism,  musical 
criticism,  dramatic  criticism,  and  art  criticism,  as  if  these 
were  all.  The  term  criticism  has  actually  been  so  restricted 
in  common  practice  that  unless  otherwise  noted  it  is  taken 
for  granted  as  applying  to  these  subjects.  But  criticism  is 
much  more  comprehensive  than  such  restriction  indicates: 
any  object  or  subject  is  capable  of  criticism.  Just  as  we 
might  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  Booth  Tarkington's 
stories  about  Penrod  are  either  good  or  bad,  so  we  might  say 
that  a  make  of  piano,  a  type  of  bridle,  a  new  kind  of  fertilizer, 
a  method  of  bookkeeping,  a  recipe  for  angel  cake  is  good  or  is 
sufficient  or  is  valueless.  We  might  have  —  in  fact  we  do 
have  —  Engineering  Criticism,  Carpenter  Criticism,  Needle- 
work Criticism,  Poultry  Criticism,  and  as  many  kinds  as 
there  are  classes  of  subjects.  In  this  treatment  we  shall  use 
the  term  in  this  broad  sense  and  include  all  subjects  in  our 
scope.  Of  course  we  are  to  remember  that  the  criticism  be- 
comes of  more  value  as  the  subject  of  criticism  is  of  more 
moment:  criticism  of  the  drama  is  nobler,  perhaps,  than 
criticism  of  egg  beaters  and  picture  hooks.  We  must  also 
remember  that  the  less  high  orders  of  criticism  are  neither 
useless  nor  undesirable  but  often  most  helpful. 

Requirements  demanded  of  the  Critic 

Since,  then,  the  brand  of  the  critic  is  on  us  all,  since  we 
practice  the  habit,  consciously  or  not,  most  of  the  time,  and 


192  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

since  the  range  is  so  wide,  no  reason  exists  why  we  should  be 
terrified  at  the  thought  of  writing  criticism,  of  making  formal 
estimate.  Certain  requirements  are  demanded,  to  be  sure; 
not  every  one  can  dive  into  the  sea  of  criticism  without  mak- 
ing an  awkward  splash  and  receiving  a  reddening  smart. 
But  these  requirements  are  in  no  way  beyond  the  possibil- 
ity of  acquiring  by  any  one  who  will  set  himself  to  the  task. 

a.  Ability  to  analyze 

In  the  first  place,  a  critic  must  have  the  power  to  analyze. 
We  have  seen  that  analysis  consists  in  breaking  a  subject 
into  its  components,  in  discovering  of  what  it  is  made. 
This  is  the  first  great  necessity  in  criticizing.  You  wish, 
for  example,  to  make  a  criticism  of  a  new  rifle  for  your 
friends.  It  is  not  enough  that  you  should  with  gusto  enun- 
ciate, "It's  just  great!"  "Oh,  it's  fine,  fine  and  dandy!" 
"  Golly  but  it 's  a  good  one ! "  Your  friends  are  hkely  to  ask 
"Why?"  or  to  say,  "The  gentleman  doth  protest  too 
much!"  If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  remark  that  the  rifle 
is  admirable  because  of  its  sights,  its  general  accuracy,  its 
cartridge  chamber,  its  comparative  freedom  from  recoil,  then 
you  will  be  giving  your  friends  definite  and  useful  criticism, 
for  you  will  have  analyzed  the  virtue  of  the  object  into  its 
components.  Now  this  necessity  for  analysis  exists  in  crit- 
icism of  literature  and  art  just  as  in  criticism  of  rifles.  Be- 
fore you  can  properly  estimate  the  value  of  a  novel  or  a  play 
you  must  divide  the  impression  it  makes  into  the  various 
heads,  such  as  emotional  power,  convincingness  in  the  mes- 
sage of  the  book  or  play,  truth  to  life,  and  whatever  heading 
you  may  think  necessary.  Until  you  do  this  your  impres- 
sions, your  judgments  will  of  necessity  be  vague  and  dim  in 
their  outlines,  and  though  they  may  seem  to  be  comprehen- 
sive, will  be  found  actually  to  be  insufficient  to  give  your 
reader  or  listener  a  firm  notion  of  the  subject  —  he  will  have 
no  nucleus  of  thought  round  which  his  total  estimate  will 


CRITICISM  193 

center.  As  soon,  fiowever,  as  you  analyze,  and  make  defi- 
nite, so  soon  he  will  receive  real  enlightenment.  In  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  the  work  of  James  Russell  Lowell  at  the 
Court  of  Saint  James  we  find  at  once  this  careful  breaking 
of  the  subject  into  parts  which  can  be  treated  definitely. 
Had  the  writer  merely  uttered  general  impressions  of  the 
diplomacy  of  our  ambassador  we  who  read  should  have  been 
comparatively  unhelped. 

To  those  who  hold  the  semi-barbarous  notion  that  one  of  the 
duties  of  a  foreign  minister  is  to  convey  a  defiant  attitude  toward 
the  people  to  whom  he  is  accredited  —  that  he  should  stick  to 
his  post,  to  use  the  popular  phrase,  "with  his  back  up,"  and  keep 
the  world  that  he  lives  in  constantly  in  mind  that  his  countrymen 
are  rough,  untamable,  and  above  all  things  quarrelsome,  Mr. 
Lowell  has  not  seemed  a  success.  But  to  them  we  must  observe, 
that  they  know  so  little  of  the  subject  of  diplomacy  that  their  opin- 
ion is  of  no  sort  of  consequence.  The  aim  of  diplomacy  is  not  to 
provoke  war,  but  to  keep  the  peace;  it  is  not  to  beget  irritation,  or 
to  keep  it  alive,  but  to  produce  and  maintain  a  pacific  temper;  not 
to  make  disputes  hard,  but  easy,  to  settle;  not  to  magnify  differ- 
ences of  interest  or  feeling,  but  to  make  them  seem  small;  not  to 
win  by  threats,  but  by  persuasion;  not  to  promote  mutual  igno- 
rance, but  mutual  comprehension  —  to  be,  in  short,  the  representa- 
tive of  a  Christian  nation,  and  not  of  a  savage  tribe. 

No  foreign  minister,  it  is  safe  to  say,  has  ever  done  these  things 
so  successfully  in  the  same  space  of  time  as  Mr.  Lowell.  If  it  be  a 
service  to  the  United  States  to  inspire  EngHslimen  with  respect 
such  as  they  have  never  felt  before  for  American  wit  and  eloquence 
and  knowledge,  and  thus  for  American  civilization  itself,  nobody 
has  rendered  this  service  so  eflfectually  as  he  has  done.  They  are 
familiar  almost  ad  nauseam  with  the  material  growth  of  the  United 
States,  with  the  immense  strides  which  the  coimtry  has  made  and  is 
making  in  the  production  of  thmgs  to  eat,  drink,  and  wear.  What 
they  know  least  of,  and  had  had  most  doubts  about,  is  American 
progress  in  acquiring  those  gifts  and  graces  which  are  commonly 
supposed  to  be  the  inheritance  of  countries  that  have  left  the 
ruder  beginnings  of  national  life  far  behind,  and  have  had  cen- 


194  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

turies  of  leisure  for  art,  literature,  and  science.  Well,  Mr.  Low- 
ell has  disabused  them.  As  far  as  blood  and  training  go,  there 
is  no  more  genuine  American  than  he.  He  went  to  England  as 
pure  a  product  of  the  American  soil  as  ever  landed  there,  and 
yet  he  at  once  showed  English  scholars  that  in  the  field  of  Eng- 
lish letters  they  had  nothing  to  teach  him.  In  that  higher  po- 
litical philosophy  which  all  Englishmen  are  now  questioning  so 
anxiously,  he  has  spoken  not  only  as  a  master,  but  almost  as 
an  oracle.  In  the  lighter  but  still  more  difficult  arts,  too,  which 
make  social  gatherings  delightful  and  exciting  to  intellectual 
men,  in  the  talk  which  stimulates  strong  brains  and  loosens  elo- 
quent tongues,  he  has  really  reduced  the  best-trained  and  most 
loquacious  London  diners-out  to  abashed  silence.  In  fact,  he  has, 
in  captivating  English  society,  —  harder,  perhaps,  to  cultivate, 
considering  the  vast  variety  of  culture  it  contains,  than  any  other 
society  in  the  world,  —  in  making  every  Englishman  who  met  him 
wish  that  he  were  an  Englishman  too,  performed  a  feat  such  as 
no  diplomatist,  we  believe,  ever  performed  before.*^ 

6.  Knowledge  of  the  General  Field 

Besides  the  ability  to  analyze  the  critic  must  have  some 
knowledge  of  the  general  field  in  which  the  subject  lies. 
For  a  man  who  has  never  thought  about  musical  form  to  at- 
tempt criticism  of  a  sonata  is  foolish  —  he  can  at  best  merely 
comment.  It  is  this  fact  that  vitiates  much  of  the  cracker- 
barrel  criticism  of  the  country  store  —  subjects  are  esti- 
mated about  which  the  critic  is  largely  ignorant.  When  an 
uneducated  person  makes  shrewd  comment,  as  he  often 
does,  on  a  play,  he  will  usually  be  found  to  have  criticized 
a  character  such  as  he  has  known  or  the  outcome  of  a  situa- 
tion the  like  of  which  he  is  familiar  with  rather  than  the  play 
as  a  whole.  Now  perfect  criticism  would  demand  perfect 
knowledge,  but  since  that  is  impossible,  a  good  working 
knowledge  will  suffice,  the  wider  the  better.  Knowledge  of 
the  general  principles  of  piano  playing  will  enable  a  critic 

I  Gustav  Pollak:  Fifty  Years  oj  American  Idealism.     Houghton  Mifflin  Company.     By 
courtesy  of  The  Nation. 


CRITICISM  ri95 

to  estimate,  in  the  large,  the  work  of  a  performer;  he  cannot 
criticize  minutely  until  he  has  added  more  detailed  knowl- 
edge to  his  mental  equipment. 

c.  Common  Sense 

However  much  knowledge  and  ability  to  analyze  a  critic 
may  have,  he  is  a  will-o'-the-wisp  unless  he  have  common 
sense  and  balance.  Since  a  critic  is  in  many  ways  a  guide, 
he  must  guard  as  sacred  his  ability  to  see  the  straight  road 
and  to  refuse  the  appeal  of  by-paths,  however  attractive. 
As  critic,  you  must  not  be  overawed  by  a  name,  be  it  of 
artist  or  manufacturer,  nor  allow  much  crying  of  wares  in 
the  street  to  swerve  you  from  your  fixed  determination  to 
judge  and  estimate  only  on  the  worth  of  the  subject  as  you 
find  it.  This  is  far  from  meaning  that  the  critic  should  give 
no  weight  to  the  opinions  of  others;  you  should  always  do 
that;  but,  having  examined  the  subject,  and  knowing  your 
opinions,  you  should  then  speak  the  truth  as  you  see  it. 
Your  one  final  desire  should  be  to  go  to  the  heart  of  the  mat- 
ter accurately,  and  then  to  state  this  clearly.  And  just  as 
you  do  not  blindly  accept  a  great  name,  so  do  not  be  whee- 
dled by  gloss  and  appearance,  but  keep  a  steady  aim  for  the 
truth. 

d.   Open-mindedness 

Finally,  this  balance,  this  passion  for  the  truth,  will  lead 
the  critic  to  strive  always  for  open-mindedness.  "I  would 
rather  be  a  man  of  disinterested  taste  and  liberal  feeling," 
wrote  Hazlitt,  "to  see  and  acknowledge  truth  and  beauty 
wherever  I  found  it,  than  a  man  of  greater  and  more  origi- 
nal genius,  to  hate,  envy,  and  deny  all  excellence  but  my 
own.  ..."  And  he  was  right  when  he  said  it:  the  willingness 
to  accept  a  new  idea  or  object  if  it  is  worthy,  whether  it  go 
against  the  critic's  personal  desires  or  not,  is  one  of  the  great 
qualities  that  he  will  find  indispensable.     "  I  never  heard 


196  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

of  such  a  thing!"  is  not  a  sufficient  remark  to  condemn  the 
thing.  In  fact,  almost  a  sufficient  answer  to  such  an  excla- 
mation would  be,  "Well,  what  of  it?"  or,  "'T  is  time  you 
did." 

Methods  of  Criticism 

Armed  with  open-mindedness,  then,  with  balance  and 
common  sense,  with  knowledge  of  the  field,  and  with  ability 
to  analyze,  you  are  ready  to  begin.  What  method  shall  you 
pursue?  Though  no  absolutely  sharp  line  can  be  drawn 
between  kinds  of  criticism,  we  may  treat  of  three  that  are 
fairly  distinct:  the  historical  method,  the  method  by  stand- 
ards, and  the  appreciative.  In  most  criticism  we  are  likely 
to  find  more  than  one  method  employed,  often  all  three. 
You  need  not  confine  yourself  to  one  any  more  than  a  car- 
penter need  refuse  to  use  any  but  one  tool,  but  for  purposes 
of  comprehension  and  presentation  we  shall  keep  the  three 
here  fairly  distinct.  We  shall  examine  the  three  now, 
briefly,  in  the  order  named. 

a.    The  Historical  Method 

Suppose  that  you  are  asked  to  criticize  one  of  Cooper's 
novels,  say  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans.  You  find  in  it  red 
men  idealized  out  of  the  actual,  red  men  such  as  presumably 
never  existed.  You  may,  then,  in  disgust  throw  the  book 
down  and  damn  it  with  the  remark,  "The  man  does  not  tell 
the  truth!"  But  you  will  not  thereby  have  disposed  of 
Cooper.  Much  better  it  would  be  to  ask,  How  came  this 
man  to  write  thus?  When  did  he  write?  For  whom?  How 
did  men  at  that  time  regard  the  Indian?  In  answering 
these  questions  you  will  relate  Cooper's  novel  to  the  time 
in  which  it  was  written,  you  will  see  that  before  that  time  the 
Indian  was  regarded  with  unmixed  fear,  as  too  often  since 
with  contempt,  and  that  at  only  that  time  could  he  have 
been  idealized  as  Cooper  treats  him.     You  would  relate  the 


CRITICISM  197 

novel  to  the  whole  movement  of  Sentimentalism,  which 
thought  that  it  believed  the  savage  more  noble  than  civilized 
man,  and  you  would  then,  and  only  then,  get  a  proper  per- 
spective. Your  original  judgment,  that  Cooper's  Indians 
are  not  accurate  portraits  of  their  kind,  would  not  be  modi- 
fied; for  the  whole  work,  however,  you  would  have  a  new 
attitude. 

In  the  same  way,  asked  for  an  opinion  of  the  old-style 
bicycle  with  enormous  front  wheel  and  tiny  trailer,  you 
would  not  summarily  reply,  "I  prefer  a  chainless  model  of 
my  own  day,"  but  would  discover  the  place  that  the  old 
style  occupied  in  the  total  development  of  the  bicycle,  would 
look  at  it  as  related  to  the  preceding  absence  of  any  bicycle, 
and  would  see  that,  though  it  may  to-day  be  useless,  in  its 
time  it  was  remarkable.  Likewise  you  will  discover  that  the 
old  three-legged  milking  stool  has  been  in  immemorial  use  in 
rude  byres  and  stables,  since  three  points  —  the  ends  of  the 
legs  —  always  make  a  firm  plane,  which  four  points  do  not 
necessarily  do.  And  one  hundred  years  hence,  when  a  critic 
comes  to  judge  the  nature  faking  of  the  early  twentieth  cen-  - 
tury,  he  will  relate  this  sentimental  movement  to  the  times 
in  which  it  appeared,  and,  though  he  may  well  finally  be 
disgusted,  he  will  understand  what  the  thing  was  and  meant, 
how  it  came  about,  what  causes  produced  it. 

Illustration  of  the  value  of  this  method  is  found  in  the 
following  historical  account  of  the  American  business  man. 
To  a  European  this  man  sometimes  is  inexplicable  —  until 
he  reads  some  illuminating  setting  forth  of  the  facts  as  here. 

As  long  as  the  economic  opportunities  of  American  life  consisted 
chiefly  in  the  appropriation  and  improvement  of  uncultivated  land, 
the  average  energetic  man  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  his  fair 
share  of  the  increasing  American  economic  product;  but  the  time 
came  when  such  opportunities,  although  still  important,  were 
dwarfed  by  other  opportunities,  incident  to  the  development  of  a 
more  mature  economic  system.     These  opportunities  which  were. 


198  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

of  course,  connected  with  the  manufacturing,  industrial,  and  tech- 
nical development  of  the  country,  demanded  under  American  con- 
ditions a  very  special  type  of  man  —  the  man  who  would  bring  to 
his  task  not  merely  energy,  but  unscrupulous  devotion,  originality, 
daring,  and  in  the  course  of  time  a  large  fund  of  instructive  experi- 
ence. The  early  American  industrial  conditions  differed  from  those 
of  Europe  in  that  they  were  fluid,  and  as  a  result  of  this  instability, 
extremely  precarious.  Rapid  changes  in  markets,  business  methods, 
and  industrial  machinery  made  it  difficult  to  build  up  a  safe  busi- 
ness. A  manufacturer  or  a  merchant  couild  not  secure  his  business 
salvation,  as  in  Europe,  merely  by  the  adoption  of  sound  conserva- 
tive methods.  The  American  business  man  had  greater  opportu- 
nities and  a  freer  hand  than  his  European  prototype;  but  he  was 
too  beset  by  more  severe,  more  unscrupulous,  and  more  dangerous 
competition.  The  industrious  and  thrifty  farmer  could  be  fairly 
sure  of  a  modest  competence,  due  partly  to  his  own  efforts,  and 
partly  to  the  increased  value  of  his  land  in  a  more  populous  com- 
munity; but  the  business  man  had  no  such  security.  In  his  case 
it  was  war  to  the  knife.  He  was  presented  with  choice  between 
aggressive  daring  business  operations,  and  financial  insignificance 
or  ruin. 

No  doubt  this  situation  was  due  as  much  to  the  temper  of  the 
American  business  man  as  to  his  economic  environment.  The 
business  man  in  seeking  to  realize  his  ambitions  and  purposes  was 
checked  neither  by  government  control  nor  social  custom.  He  had 
nothing  to  do  and  nothing  to  consider  except  his  own  business 
advancement  and  success.  He  was  eager,  strenuous,  and  impa- 
tient. He  liked  the  excitement  and  risk  of  large  operations.  The 
capital  at  his  command  was  generally  too  small  for  the  safe  and 
conservative  operation  of  his  business;  and  he  was  consequently 
obliged  to  be  adventurous,  or  else  to  be  left  behind  in  the  race.  He 
might  well  be  earning  enormous  profits  one  year  and  be  skirting 
bankruptcy  the  next.  Under  such  a  stress  conservatism  and  cau- 
tion were  suicidal.  It  was  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  as  well 
as  the  spirit  of  business  adventure,  which  kept  him  constantly  seek- 
ing for  larger  markets,  improved  methods,  or  for  some  peculiar 
means  of  getting  ahead  of  his  competitors.  He  had  no  fortress  be- 
hind which  he  could  hide  and  enjoy  his  conquests.     Surrounded  as 


CRITICISM  199 

he  was  by  aggressive  enemies  and  undefended  frontiers,  his  best 
means  of  security  lay  in  a  policy  of  constant  innovation  and  expan- 
sion. Moreover,  even  after  he  had  obtained  the  bulwark  of  suffi- 
cient capital  and  more  settled  industrial  surroundings,  he  was  un- 
der no  temptation  to  quit  and  enjoy  the  spoils  of  his  conquests. 
The  social,  intellectual,  or  even  the  more  vulgar  pleasures,  afforded 
by  leisure  and  wealth,  could  bring  him  no  thrill  which  was  any- 
thing like  as  intense  as  that  derived  from  the  exercise  of  his  busi- 
ness ability  and  power.  He  could  not  conquer  except  by  virtue  of 
a  strong,  tenacious,  adventurous,  and  unscrupulous  will;  and  after 
he  had  conquered,  this  will  had  him  in  complete  possession.  He 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  play  the  game  to  the  end  —  even  though 
his  additional  profits  were  of  no  living  use  to  him.^ 

In  criticizing  literature  and  art  this  method  is  often  diffi- 
cult, for  we  must  take  into  account  race,  geography,  and 
other  conditions.  We  must  see  that  only  in  New  England, 
of  all  the  sections  of  the  United  States,  could  Hawthorne 
have  written,  that  Tolstoi  could  not  have  written  in  Illinois 
as  he  did  in  Russia,  that  Norse  Sagas  could  not  have  ap- 
peared among  tropical  peoples,  that  among  the  French 
alone,  perhaps,  could  Racine  have  come  to  literary  power  as 
he  did.  And  in  examining  the  work  of  two  wTiters  who  treat 
the  same  subject  in  general,  as  Miss  Jewett  and  Mrs.  Free- 
man treat  New  England  life,  we  shall  find  the  influence  of 
ancestry  and  environment  and  training  largely  determin- 
ing, on  the  one  hand  the  quaint  fine  sunshine,  on  the  other 
hand  the  stern  hard  Puritanism.  We  shall  also  have  to  learn 
what  incidents  in  an  author's  life  have  helped  to  determine 
his  point  of  view,  how  early  poverty,  or  sorrow,  or  a  great 
experience  of  protracted  agony  or  joy  have  made  him 
sympathetic,  or  how  aristocratic  breeding  and  the  early  in- 
troduction into  exclusive  circles  have  made  him  naturally 
unresponsive  to  some  of  the  squalor,  the  sadness  of  lowly  life. 
We  shall  perceive  that  the  early  removal  of  Scott  to  the 

'  Herbert  Croly:  The  Promise  of  American  Life.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers.  The  Mac- 
millan  Company,  New  York  City. 


200  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

country  began  his  intense  love  for  Scottish  scenery  and  his- 
tory, that  the  bitter  laughter  of  Byron's  mother  turned  part 
of  the  poet's  nature  to  gall.  In  other  words,  when  we  are 
dealing  with  the  exquisitely  fine  products  of  impassioned 
thought  we  have  a  difficult  task  because  so  many  influences 
mold  these  thoughts,  so  many  lines  of  procedure  are  deter- 
mined by  conditions  outside  the  particular  author  or  artist, 
all  of  which  must  be  considered  if  we  wish  our  work  to  be 
really  of  value.  The  following  illustration  shows  in  brief 
space  the  attempt  to  link  a  movement  in  literature  to  the 
times  in  which  it  appeared,  to  show  that  it  is  naturally  a 
product  of  the  general  feeling  of  the  times. 

Yet,  after  all,  it  is  not  the  theories  and  formulae  of  its  followers 
that  differentiate  the  "new  poetry";  the  insistence  upon  certain 
externalities,  the  abandonment  of  familiar  traditions,  even  the 
new  spirit  of  the  language  employed,  none  of  these  are  more  than 
symptoms  of  the  deep  inner  mood  which  lies  at  the  roots  of  the 
whole  tendency.  This  tendency  is  in  line  with  the  basic  trend  of 
our  times,  and  represents  the  attempt  in  verse,  as  in  many  other 
branches  of  expression,  to  cast  off  a  certain  passionate  illusionment 
and  approach  the  imiverse  as  it  actually  is  —  the  universe  of  sci- 
ence, perhaps,  rather  than  that  of  the  thrilled  human  heart.  This 
is  the  kernel  of  the  entire  new  movement,  as  has  already  been 
clearly  pointed  out  by  several  writers  on  the  subject. 

Everywhere  in  the  new  verse  we  are  conscious  of  a  certain  objec- 
tive quality,  not  the  objective  quality  of  The  Divine  Comedy  or 
Faust,  which  is  achieved  by  the  symbolic  representation  in  external 
forms  of  inner  spiritual  verities,  but  an  often  stark  objectivity 
accomplished  by  the  elimination  of  the  feeling  human  medium,  the 
often  complete  absence  of  any  personal  reaction.  We  are  shown 
countless  objects  and  movements,  and  these  objects  and  move- 
ments are  glimpsed  panoramically  from  the  point  of  view  of  out- 
line, color,  and  interrelation,  as  through  the  senses  merely;  the 
transfiguring  lens  of  the  soul  is  seldom  interposed  or  felt  to  be  pres- 
ent. To  the  "new  poet"  the  city  street  presents  itself  in  terms  of 
a  scries  of  sense-impressions  vividly  realized,  a  succession  of  appar- 


CRITICISM  201 

ently  aimless  and  kaleidoscopic  pageantries  stripped  of  their  human 
significance  and  symbolic  import.  They  have  ceased  to  be  signs 
of  a  less  outward  reality,  they  have  become  that  reality  itself  — 
reality  apprehended  from  a  singly  sensuous  standpoint  untainted 
by  any  of  the  human  emotions  of  triumph  or  sorrow,  pity  or  ado- 
ration. Love  is  thus  frequently  bared  of  its  glamour  and  death  of 
its  peculiar  majesty,  which  may  now  be  regarded  as  deceitful  and 
fatuous  projections  of  the  credulous  soul,  and  not  to  be  tolerated 
by  the  sophisticated  mood  of  the  new  and  scientific  poet,  for  it  is 
exactly  with  these  beautiful  "sentimentalities"  that  the  analytic 
mind  of  science  is  not  concerned.^ 

This  method  seeks,  then,  to  place  a  work,  whether  of  art 
or  science  or  industry,  in  its  place  in  the  whole  course  of  de- 
velopment of  such  ideas.  It  examines  causes  such  as  com- 
mercial demands,  general  prosperity,  war,  and  only  after 
this  examination  gives  the  work  its  estimate  of  value. 

Now  this  method  may  seem  uninteresting,  dry,  dull.  Not 
always  does  it  escape  this  blame.  For  it  is  inevitably  im- 
personal, it  looks  at  the  thing  perhaps  coldly  —  at  least 
without  passion.  But  in  so  doing,  and  in  considering  the 
precedents  and  surroundings  of  the  object  of  criticism,  it 
largely  escapes  the  superficiality  of  personal  whim,  and  it 
avoids  silly  reaction  to  unaccustomed  things.  Much  of  our 
empty  criticism  of  customs  in  dress  and  mamiers  of  architec- 
ture such  as  that  of  Southern  California,  of  other  religions 
such  as  those  of  the  Chinese  and  the  Hindoos,  would  be 
either  done  away  or  somewhat  modified  if  we  used  this 
method.  One  reason,  perhaps,  why  the  Goths  destroyed  the 
beautiful  art  works  of  Rome  was  the  fact  that  they  had  not 
the  critical  spirit,  did  not  relate  these  works  to  their  develop- 
ment and  race.  Of  course  there  were  other  reasons.  By 
linking  the  object  of  criticism  to  the  race  as  a  whole,  by 
seeing  how  and  why  it  became  created,  the  critic  is  largely 

1  From  Scribner's  Magazine,  September,  1917.     By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  New  York  City.     Copyright,  1917. 


202  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

broadened  and  the  reader  is  kept  from  superficiality.  More- 
over, when  this  method  is  not  too  abstractly  pursued,  it 
gives  to  things,  after  all,  a  human  meaning,  for  it  links  them 
to  humanity.  That  it  may  be  misleading  in  literature  and 
art  is  obvious,  for  a  creation  may  be  accounted  for  in  an 
attractive  way  as  the  result  of  certain  forces  that  had  their 
beginnings  in  sense  and  wisdom,  and  so  be  made  to  seem 
admirable,  whereas  it  really  has  little  worth  on  a  basis  of 
lasting  usefulness  and  significance.  But,  properly  and  thor- 
oughly used,  this  method,  even  though  it  gives  us  an  account 
of  a  work  rather  than  finally  settling  its  value,  scatters  away 
the  vague  mists  of  superficial  generalization  and  drives 
deeply  into  causes  and  results. 

b.   The  Method  by  Standards 

As  the  historical  method  is  generally  impersonal,  objective, 
so  is  the  method  of  criticizing  by  standards.  In  using  this 
method  we  try  to  determine  whether  the  object  of  criticism 
fulfills  the  demands  of  its  type,  whether  its  quality  is  high 
or  low.  For  example,  we  thus  judge  a  tennis  court  as  to  its 
firm  footing,  its  softness,  its  retention  of  court  lines,  its  posi- 
tion as  regards  the  sun.  In  all  these  qualities  an  ideal  tennis 
court  would  be  satisfactory;  the  question  is,  is  this  one.  So 
a  headache  powder  should  relieve  pain  without  injuring 
with  evil  drugs;  if  this  one  does,  we  shall  not  condemn  it. 
If  the  rocks  in  a  landscape  painting  look  like  those  which  the 
heroic  tenor  in  grand  opera  hurls  aside  as  so  much  "puffed 
wheat,"  we  must  condemn  the  artist,  for  rocks  should  look 
solid.  An  evangelist  should  have  certain  qualities  of  piety 
and  reverence,  and  should  accomplish  certain  lasting  results; 
we  shall  judge  Billy  Sunday,  for  example,  according  to 
whether  he  does  or  does  not  fulfill  these  demands.  Likewise 
a  lyric  poem  should  have  certain  qualities  of  freshness,  grace, 
passion,  by  which  we  rate  any  given  lyric. 

In  fact,  we  ask,  in  any  given  case,  does  this  work  do  what 


CRITICISM  203 

such  a  thing  is  supposed  to  do,  does  it  have  the  quahties  that 
such  a  thing  is  supposed  to  have?  And  on  our  answer  will 
depend  our  judgment.  This  is  the  kind  of  criticism  that 
business  men  use  constantly;  they  rate  a  cash  system  or  a 
form  of  order  blank  or  an  arrangement  of  counters  in  a  store 
on  the  basis  of  the  presence  or  absence  of  the  qualities  that 
distinguish  an  ideal  system,  blank,  arrangement.  In  the 
following  example  we  have  a  combination  of  the  historical 
and  the  standards  methods,  finally  accounting  for  and  judg- 
ing the  value  of  the  common  kinds  of  cargo  steamers. 

A  trip  round  any  busy  seaport  will  show  the  reader,  if  he  has  not 
noticed  it  aheady,  that  there  are  many  different  types  of  the  ordi- 
nary cargo  steamer.  The  feature  which  displays  the  difference  most 
noticeably  is  the  arrangement  of  the  structures  on  the  deck,  and  it 
may  be  reasonably  asked  why  there  are  these  varieties,  and  how  it 
is  that  a  common  type  has  not  come  to  be  agreed  upon. 

The  answer  to  that  question  is  that  the  differences  are  not  merely 
arbitrary,  but  are  due  to  a  variety  of  influences,  and  it  will  be  inter- 
esting to  look  briefly  at  these,  as  the  reader  will  then  be  able,  the 
next  time  he  sees  a  cargo  steamer,  to  understand  something  of  the 
ideas  underlying  its  design. 

The  early  steamers  had  "flush"  decks,  which  means  that  the 
deck  ran  from  end  to  end  without  any  structures  of  considerable 
size  upon  it;  a  light  bridge  was  provided,  supported  upon  slender 
uprights,  for  "  lookouts"  purposes,  and  that  was  all.  On  the  face 
of  it  this  seems  a  very  simple  and  admirable  arrangement.  It  had 
many  disadvantages,  however,  as  we  shall  see. 

In  the  first  place,  it  permitted  a  wave  to  come  on  board  at  the  bow 
and  sweep  right  along  the  deck,  often  doing  great  damage.  Tliis 
was  mitigated  somewhat  by  building  the  ships  with  "shear,"  that 
is,  with  a  slope  upwards  fore  and  aft,  so  as  to  make  the  ends  taller 
than  the  middle.  That,  however,  was  not  sufficient,  so  ships  were 
buUt  with  an  upper  deck,  so  that  the  bow  should  be  high  enough  to 
cut  through  the  waves  instead  of  allowing  the  water  to  come  on 
board.  Owing,  however,  to  the  method  by  which  the  tonnage  of 
a  ship  is  reckoned,  as  will  be  explained  later,  that  had  the  effect  of 


204  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

adding  largely  to  the  tonnage  on  which  dues  have  to  he  'paid  without 
materially  increasing  the  carrjdng  capacity  of  the  ship. 

The  difficulty  was  therefore  got  over  in  this  way.  The  bow  was 
raised  and  covered  in,  forming  what  is  known  as  a  "top-gallant 
forecastle,"  which  not  only  had  the  effect  of  keeping  the  water  off 
the  deck,  but  provided  better  accommodation  for  the  crew  as  well. 
That  did  not  provide,  however,  against  a  wave  overtaking  the  ship 
from  the  rear  and  coming  on  board  just  where  the  steering  wheel 
was,  so  a  hood  or  covering  over  the  wheel  became  usual,  called  the 
"  poop."  Nor  did  either  of  these  sufficiently  protect  that  very  im- 
portant point,  the  engme-room.  For  it  needs  but  a  moment's 
thought  to  see  that  there  must  be  openings  in  the  deck  over  the 
engmes  and  boilers,  and  if  a  volume  of  water  should  get  down  these, 
it  might  extinguish  the  fires  and  leave  the  ship  helpless,  absolutely 
at  the  mercy  of  the  waves.  The  light  navigating  bridge  was  there- 
fore developed  into  a  substantial  structure  the  whole  width  of  the 
ship,  surrounding  and  protecting  the  engine-and-boiler-room  open- 
ings, and  incidentally  providing  accommodation  for  the  officers. 

Ships  of  this  type  answered  very  well  indeed,  for  if  a  wave  of 
exceptional  size  should  manage  to  get  over  the  forecastle,  the  water 
fell  into  the  "well"  or  space  between  the  forecastle  and  bridge- 
house,  and  then  simply  ran  overboard,  so  that  the  after  part  of  the 
ship  was  kept  dry. 

Then  troubles  arose  with  the  loading.  The  engines,  of  course, 
need  to  be  in  the  center,  for  they  represent  considerable  weight, 
which,  if  not  balanced,  will  cause  one  end  of  the  ship  to  float  too 
high  in  the  water.  Thus  the  hold  of  the  ship  is  divided  by  the  en- 
gine-room into  two  approximately  equal  parts,  but  out  of  the  after- 
hold  must  be  taken  the  space  occupied  by  the  tunnel  through 
which  the  propeller  shaft  runs,  from  the  engine  to  the  screw.  Thus 
the  capacity  of  the  after-hold  becomes  less  than  the  forward  one, 
and  if  both  are  filled  with  a  homogeneous  cargo  such  as  grain  (and, 
as  we  shall  see  presently,  such  a  cargo  must  always  entirely  fill  the 
hold),  the  forward  part  of  the  ship  would  float  high  in  the  water. 
The  trouble  could  not  be  rectified  by  placing  the  engines  further 
forward,  for  then  the  ship  would  not  float  properly  when  light. 

Shipowners  overcame  this  trouble,  however,  by  raising  the  whole 
of  the  "quarter-deck"  —  the  part  of  the  deck,  that  is,  which  lies 


CRITICISM  205 

behind  the  after  end  of  the  "bridge-house"  —  and  by  that  means 
they  made  the  after-hold  deeper  than  the  other.  Thus  the  com- 
monest type  of  all,  the  "raised  quarter-deck,  well-decker,"  came 
into  existence,  a  type  of  which  many  examples  are  to  be  seen  on  the 
sea.^ 

In  the  following  paragraphs  Professor  Thomas  R.  Louns- 
bury  of  Yale  University  criticizes  the  use  of  final  e  in  English 
words.  You  will  note  that  he  uses  a  combination  of  the  his- 
torical method  and  the  method  by  standards. 

There  seems  to  be  something  peculiarly  attractive  to  our  race  in 
the  letter  e.  Especially  is  this  so  when  it  serves  no  useful  purpose. 
Adding  it  at  random  to  syllables,  and  especially  to  final  syllables,  is 
supposed  to  give  a  peculiar  old-time  flavor  to  the  spelling.  For  this 
belief  there  is,  to  some  extent,  historic  justification.  The  letter 
still  remains  appended  to  scores  of  words  in  which  it  has  lost  the 
pronunciation  once  belonging  to  it.  Agaui,  it  has  been  added  to 
scores  of  others  apparently  to  amplify  their  proportions.  We  have 
in  our  speech  a  large  number  of  monosyllables.  As  a  sort  of  con- 
solation to  their  shrunken  condition  an  e  has  been  appended  to 
them,  apparently  to  make  them  present  a  more  portly  appearance. 
The  fancy  we  all  have  for  this  vowel  not  only  recalls  the  wit  but 
suggests  the  wisdom  of  Charles  Lamb's  exquisite  pun  upon  Pope's 
line  that  our  race  is  largely  made  up  of  "the  mob  of  gentlemen  who 
write  with  ease."  The  belief,  in  truth,  seems  to  prevail  that  the 
final  e  is  somehow  indicative  of  aristocracy.  In  proper  names,  par- 
ticularly, it  is  felt  to  impart  a  certain  distinction  to  the  appellation, 
lifting  it  far  above  the  grade  of  low  associations.  It  has  the  crown- 
ing merit  of  uselessness;  and  in  the  eyes  of  many  uselessness  seems 
to  be  regarded  as  the  distinguishing  mark  of  any  noble  class,  either 
of  things  or  persons.  Still,  I  have  so  much  respect  for  the  rights 
of  property  that  it  seems  to  me  every  man  ought  to  have  the  priv- 
ilege of  spelling  and  pronouncing  his  own  name  in  any  way  he 
pleases. 

The  prevalence  of  this  letter  at  the  end  of  words  was  largely  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  vowels,  a,  o,  and  u  of  the  original  endings  were 

*  Thomas  W.  Corbin:  Engineering  of  To-day.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Seeley, 
Service  Si  Co.,  London. 


206  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

all  weakened  to  it  in  the  break-up  of  the  language  which  followed 
the  Norman  conquest.  Hence,  it  became  the  common  ending  of 
the  noun.  The  further  disappearance  of  the  consonant  n  from  the 
original  termination  of  the  infinitive  extended  this  usage  to  the 
verb.  The  Anglo-Saxon  tellan  and  helpan,  for  instance,  after  being 
weakened  to  tellen  and  helpen,  became  telle  and  helpe.  Words  not 
of  native  origin  fell  under  the  influence  of  this  general  tendency  and 
adopted  an  e  to  which  they  were  in  no  wise  entitled.  Even  Anglo- 
Saxon  nouns  which  ended  in  a  consonant  —  such,  for  instance,  as 
hors  and  mus  and  stdn  —  are  now  represented  by  horse  and  mouse 
and  stone.  The  truth  is,  that  when  the  memory  of  the  earlier  form 
of  the  word  had  passed  away  an  e  was  liable  to  be  appended,  on 
any  pretext,  to  the  end  of  it.  The  feelLag  still  continues  to  affect 
us  all.  Our  eyes  have  become  so  accustomed  to  seeing  a  final  e 
which  no  one  thinks  of  pronouncing,  that  the  word  is  felt  by  some 
to  have  a  certain  sort  of  incompleteness  if  it  be  not  found  there. 
In  no  other  way  can  I  account  for  Lord  Macaulay's  spelling  the 
comparatively  modern  verb  edit  as  edite.  This  seems  to  be  a  dis- 
tinction peculiar  to  himself. 

In  the  chaos  which  came  over  the  spelling  in  consequence  of  the 
uncertainty  attached  to  the  sound  of  the  vowels,  the  final  e  was 
seized  upon  as  a  sort  of  help  to  indicate  the  pronunciation.  Its 
office  in  this  respect  was  announced  as  early  as  the  end  of  the  six- 
teenth century;  at  least,  then  it  was  announced  that  an  unsoimded 
e  at  the  end  of  a  word  indicated  that  the  preceding  vowel  was  long. 
This,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  is  a  crude  and  unscientific  method  of 
denoting  pronunciation.  It  is  a  process  purely  empirical.  It  is 
far  removed  from  the  ideal  that  no  letter  should  exist  in  a  word 
which  is  not  sounded.  Yet,  to  some  extent,  this  artificial  make- 
shift has  been,  and  still  is,  a  working  principle.  Were  it  carried  out 
consistently  it  might  be  regarded  as,  on  the  whole,  serving  a  useful 
purpose.  But  here,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  the  trail  of  the  ortho- 
graphic serpent  is  discoverable.  Here  as  elsewhere  it  renders  im- 
possible the  full  enjoyment  of  even  this  slight  section  of  an  ortho- 
graphic paradise.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  manifests  itself  the  besetting 
sin  of  our  spelling,  that  there  is  no  consistency  in  the  application  of 
any  principle.     Some  of  our  most  common  verbs  violate  the  rule 


CRITICISM  207 

(if  rule  it  can  be  called),  such  as  have,  give,  love,  are,  done.  In  these 
the  preceding  vowel  is  not  long  but  short.  There  are  further  large 
classes  of  words  ending  in  He,  ine,  ite,  ive,  where  this  final  e  would 
serve  to  mislead  the  inquirer  as  to  the  pronunciation  had  he  no 
other  source  of  information  than  the  spelling. 

Still,  ia  the  case  of  some  of  these  words,  the  operation  of  this  prin- 
ciple has  had,  and  is  doubtless  continuing  to  have,  a  certain  influ- 
ence. Take,  for  instance,  the  word  hostile.  In  the  early  nine- 
teenth century,  if  we  can  trust  the  most  authoritative  dictionaries, 
the  word  was  regularly  pronounced  in  England  as  if  spelled  hos-tfl. 
So  it  is  to-day  in  America.  But  the  influence  of  the  final  e  has 
tended  to  prolong,  in  the  former  country,  the  sound  of  the  preced- 
ing i.  Consequently,  a  usual,  and  probably  the  usual,  pronimcia- 
tion  there  is  hos-tile.  We  can  see  a  similar  tendency  manifested  in 
the  case  of  several  other  adjectives.  A  disposition  to  give  many  of 
them  the  long  diphthongal  sound  of  the  i  is  frequently  displayed  in 
the  pronunciation  of  such  words  as  agile,  docile,  ductile,  futile,  infan- 
tile. Save  hi  the  case  of  the  last  one  of  this  list,  the  dictionaries 
once  gave  the  He  nothing  but  the  sound  of  il;  now  they  usually 
authorize  both  ways. 

Were  the  principle  here  indicated  fully  carried  out,  pronuncia- 
tions now  condemned  as  vulgarisms  would  displace  those  now  con- 
sidered correct.  In  accordance  with  it,  for  instance,  engine,  as  it 
is  spelled,  should  strictly  have  the  i  long.  One  of  the  devices  em- 
plo3'ed  by  Dickens  in  Martin  Chuzzlewit  to  ridicule  what  he  pre- 
tended was  the  American  speech  was  to  have  the  characters  pro- 
nounce genuine  as  gen-u-ine,  prejudice  as  prej-u-dice,  active  and 
native  as  ac-fyve  and  na-tlve.  Doubtless  he  heard  such  pronuncia- 
tions from  some  men.  Yet,  in  these  instances,  the  speaker  was 
carried  along  by  the  same  tendency  which  in  cultivated  English  has 
succeeded  in  turning  the  pronunciation  hos-tXl  into  hos-tile.  Were 
there  any  binding  force  in  the  application  of  the  rule  which  imparts 
to  the  termination  e  the  power  of  lengthening  the  preceding  vowel, 
no  one  would  have  any  business  to  give  to  it  in  the  final  syllable  of 
the  words  just  specified  any  other  sound  than  that  of  "long  i."  The 
pronunciations  ridiculed  by  Dickens  would  be  the  only  pronuncia- 
tions allowable.  Accordingly,  the  way  to  make  the  rule  universally 
effective  is  to  drop  this  final  e  when  it  does  not  produce  such  an 


208  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

effect.     If  genuine  is  to  be  pronounced  gen-u-in,  so  it  ought  to  be 
spelled.^ 

Now  it  is  evident  that  unless  the  critic's  standards  are  fair 
and  sensible,  unless  they  are  known  to  be  sound  and  essen- 
tial, his  criticism  is  likely  to  be  valueless.  If  my  ideas  of  the 
qualities  of  ideal  tennis  courts  are  erratic  or  queer,  my  judg- 
ment of  the  individual  court  will  be  untrustworthy.  Your 
first  duty  as  critic,  then,  is  to  look  at  your  standards.  In  judg- 
ing such  things  as  ice-cream  freezers,  motorcycles,  filing  sys- 
tems, fertilizers,  rapid-firing  guns,  and  other  useful  devices, 
you  will  find  no  great  difficulty  in  choosing  your  standards. 
When  you  come  to  literature  and  the  arts,  however,  you  find 
a  difficult  task.  For  who  shall  say  exactly  what  a  lyric  poem 
shall  do?  Or  who  shall  bound  the  field  of  landscape  paint- 
ing? No  sooner  does  Reynolds  begin  painting,  after  he  has 
formulated  the  laws  of  his  art  and  stated  them  with  decision, 
than  he  violates  them  all.  No  sooner  did  musicians  settle 
just  what  a  sonata  must  be  than  a  greater  musician  appeared 
who  transcended  the  narrower  form.  Moreover,  in  the  field 
of  literature  and  the  arts  we  often  find  great  difficulty  in  sur- 
mounting the  cast  of  our  individual  minds;  we  like  certain 
types  and  are  unconsciously  led  to  condenm  all  others.  The 
great  critic  rises  superior  to  his  peculiar  likes  and  prejudices, 
but  most  of  us  are  hindered  by  them.  One  great  benefit  to 
be  derived  from  writing  this  particular  kind  of  criticism  is  in 
gaining  humility  —  humility  at  the  greatness  of  some  of  the 
works  of  the  past,  before  which,  when  we  really  look  at  them, 
we  are  moved  to  stand  uncovered,  and  humility  at  the  lack 
of  real  analysis  that  we  have  made  before  we  attempt  the 
criticism,  and  finally  humility  at  the  tremendous  effort  we 
must  make  to  write  criticism  at  all  worthy  of  the  subjects. 
But  the  difficulty  of  writing  such  criticism  well  should  make 
you  exert  yourself  to  the  utmost  to  acquire  skill  before  you 
attempt  this  form. 

1  Thorii.is  11.  Lounsbury:  English  Spelling  and  Spelling  Be/orm.  By  courtesy  of  the  pub 
lishers.  Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York  City.   Copyright. 


CRITICISM  209 

This  method,  like  the  historical,  makes  against  superfi- 
ciality, for  it  necessitates  real  knowledge  of  the  class  to  which 
the  object  of  criticism  belongs,  the  purposes  of  the  class,  its 
bearings,  and  then  a  sure  survey  of  the  individual  itself. 
And  in  forcing  the  critic  to  examine  his  standards  to  deter- 
mine their  fairness  and  soundness  it  makes  against  hasty 
judgment.  Properly  used,  this  method  should  result  in 
something  like  finality  of  judgment. 

c.    The  Appreciative  Method 

There  come  occasions  when  you  are  not  primarily  interested 
in  the  historical  significance  of  the  subject  of  criticism,  and 
when  you  are  indifferent  to  objective  standards,  when,  in 
fact,  you  are  almost  wholly  interested  in  the  individual  before 
you,  in  what  it  is  or  in  the  effect  it  has  on  you.  You  rather 
feel  toward  it  than  care  to  make  a  cold  analysis  of  it;  you  are 
moved  by  it,  are  conscious  of  a  personal  reaction  to  it.  In 
such  cases  you  will  make  use  of  what  is  called  appreciative 
criticism.  This  method  consists  in  interpreting,  often  for 
one  who  does  not  know  the  work,  the  value  of  the  work, 
the  good  things  in  it,  either  as  they  appear  to  one  who 
studies  or  as  they  affect  the  critic.  After  reading  a  new 
book,  for  example,  or  attending  a  concert,  or  driving  a  won- 
derfully smooth  running  automobile,  or  watching  the  team 
work  in  a  football  game,  you  are  primarily  interested  in  the 
phenomena  shown  as  they  are  in  their  picturesque  individ- 
uality or  in  your  own  emotional  reaction  to  them.  In  the 
following  example  George  Gissing  makes  an  appreciative  crit- 
icism of  English  cooking,  not  by  coldly  tracing  the  historical 
influences  that  have  made  this  cooking  what  it  is,  nor  by 
subjecting  it  to  certain  fixed  standards  to  which  admirable 
cooking  should  attain,  but  rather  by  telling  us  what  English 
cooking  is  and  by  giving  us  the  flavor  of  his  own  emotional 
delight  in  it. 


210  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

As  so  often  when  my  praise  has  gone  forth  for  things  English,  I 
find  myself  tormented  by  an  after-thought  —  the  reflection  that 
I  have  praised  a  time  gone  by.  Now,  in  this  matter  of  English 
meat.  A  newspaper  tells  me  that  English  beef  is  non-existent;  that 
the  best  meat  bearing  that  name  has  merely  been  fed  up  in  England 
for  a  short  time  before  killing.  Well,  well;  we  can  only  be  thankful 
that  the  quality  is  still  so  good.  Real  English  mutton  still  exists, 
I  suppose.  It  would  surprise  me  if  any  other  country  could  pro- 
duce the  shoulder  I  had  yesterday. 

Who  knows.''  Perhaps  even  our  own  cookery  has  seen  its  best 
days.  It  is  a  lamentable  fact  that  the  multitude  of  English  people 
nowadays  never  taste  roasted  meat;  what  they  call  by  that  name 
is  baked  in  the  oven  —  a  totally  different  thing,  though  it  may,  I 
admit,  be  inferior  only  to  the  right  roast.  Oh,  the  sirloin  of  old 
times,  the  sirloin  which  I  can  remember,  thirty  or  forty  years  ago! 
That  was  English,  and  no  mistake,  and  all  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion could  show  nothing  on  the  tables  of  mankind  to  equal  it.  To 
clap  that  joint  into  a  steamy  oven  would  have  been  a  crime  unpar- 
donable by  gods  and  men.  Have  I  not  with  my  own  eyes  seen  it 
turning,  turning  on  the  spit?  The  scent  it  diffused  was  in  itself  a 
cure  for  dyspepsia. 

It  is  a  very  long  time  since  I  tasted  a  slice  of  boiled  beef;  I  have  a 
suspicion  that  the  thing  is  becoming  rare.  In  a  household  such  as 
mine,  the  "round"  is  impracticable;  of  necessity  it  must  be  large, 
altogether  too  large  for  our  requirements.  But  what  exquisite  mem- 
ories does  my  mind  preserve!  The  very  coloring  of  a  round,  how 
rich  it  is,  yet  how  delicate,  and  how  subtly  varied!  The  odor  is 
totally  different  from  that  of  roast  beef,  and  yet  it  is  beef  incontest- 
able. Hot,  of  course,  with  carrots,  it  is  a  dish  for  a  king;  but  cold 
it  is  nobler.  Oh,  the  thin  broad  slice,  with  just  its  fringe  of  con- 
sistent fat! 

We  are  sparing  of  condiments,  but  such  as  we  use  are  the  best 
that  man  has  invented.  And  we  know  how  to  use  them.  I  have 
heard  an  impatient  innovator  scoff  at  the  English  law  on  the  sub- 
ject of  mustard,  and  demand  why,  in  the  nature  of  things,  mustard 
should  not  be  eaten  with  mutton.  The  answer  is  very  simple;  this 
law  has  been  made  by  the  English  palate  —  which  is  impeccable. 
I  maintain  it  is  impeccable.     Your  educated  Englishman  is  an  in- 


CRITICISM  211 

fallible  guide  to  all  that  relates  to  the  table.  "The  man  of  superior 
intellect,"  said  Tennyson  —  justifying  his  love  of  boiled  beef  and 
new  potatoes  —  "knows  what  is  good  to  eat";  and  I  would  extend  it 
to  all  civilized  natives  of  our  country.  We  are  content  with  noth- 
ing but  the  finest  savours,  the  truest  combinations;  our  wealth,  and 
happy  natural  circumstances,  have  allowed  us  an  education  of  the 
palate  of  which  our  natural  aptitude  was  worthy.  Think,  by  the 
bye,  of  those  new  potatoes,  just  mentioned.  Our  cook,  when  dress- 
ing them,  puts  into  the  saucepan  a  sprig  of  mint.  This  is  genius. 
No  otherwise  could  the  flavour  of  the  vegetable  be  so  perfectly,  yet 
so  delicately,  emphasized.  The  mint  is  there,  and  we  know  it; 
yet  our  palate  knows  only  the  young  potato.^ 

Appreciative  criticism  may  on  the  one  hand  approach 
criticism  by  standards,  since,  for  example,  to  praise  a  pianist 
for  melting  his  tones  one  into  another  implies  that  such  melt- 
ing is  a  standard.  It  may,  again,  consist  largely  in  telling 
what  the  thing  is,  as  to  say  that  the  Progressive  Party  was 
one  that  looked  forward  rather  than  backward,  planned  re- 
forms for  the  people,  insisted  on  clean  politics,  etc.  It  may, 
in  the  third  place,  consist  in  giving  a  transcript  of  the  writ- 
er's feelings  as  he  is  in  the  presence  of  the  subject  of  criticism, 
as  one  might  picture  the  reaction  of  inspiration  to  a  view 
from  a  mountain  peak,  or  express  his  elation  in  listening  to 
a  famous  singer,  or  show  his  wild  enthusiasm  as  he  watches 
his  team  slowly  fight  its  way  over  the  goal  line.  In  all  three 
of  these  cases  the  criticism  answers  the  question,  "What 
does  this  work  seem  to  be,  what  do  I  find  in  it,  and  wherein 
do  I  think  it  is  good?"    That  is  appreciative  criticism. 

Now  since  you  can  adequately  estimate  in  this  way  only 
when  you  are  aware  of  the  qualities  of  the  subject,  the  first 
requirement  for  success  in  this  kind  of  criticism  is  keen  and 
intelligent  sympathy  with  the  work,  an  open-minded,  sensible 
hospitality  to  ideas  and  things.  If  I  am  quite  unmoved  by 
music,  I  cannot  make  reliable  appreciative  criticism  of  it. 

•  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecroft,  "Winter."  By  permission  of  the  pub* 
lishers,  E.  P.  Button  &  Co.,  New  York. 


212  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

If  I  have  no  reaction  to  the  beauty  of  a  big  pumping  station, 
when  asked  for  criticism  of  it,  I  shall  perforce  be  silent.  If 
my  mind  is  closed  to  new  ideas,  I  can  never  "  appreciate"  a 
new  theory  in  science,  in  sociology,  in  art  or  in  religion. 

In  the  next  place,  I  must  refrain  from  morbid  personal 
effusion.  Certain  of  our  sentimental  magazines  have  pub- 
lished, at  odd  times,  extremely  personal  rhapsodies  about 
symphonies  and  poems.  The  listener  has  been  "w^afted 
away,"  has  heard  the  birdies  sing,  the  brooks  come  purling 
over  their  stones,  has  seen  the  moon  come  swimming  through 
the  clouds  —  but  the  reader  of  such  criticism  need  not  be  too 
harshly  censured  if  he  mildly  wonders  whether  the  critic 
ought  not  to  consult  a  physician. 

Sometimes  this  fault  occurs  through  the  endeavor  to  make 
the  criticism  attractive,  one  of  the  strong  demands  of  the 
appreciative  kind.  Since  the  personal  note  exists  through- 
out, and  since  you  wish  to  make  your  reader  attracted  to  the 
object  that  you  criticize,  your  writing  should  be  as  pleasing 
as  is  legitimately  possible.  Allow  yourself  full  rein  to  ex- 
press the  beauties  of  your  subject  with  all  the  large  personal 
warmth  of  which  you  are  capable,  with  as  neatly  turned  ex- 
pression as  you  can  make,  always  remembering  to  keep  your 
balance,  to  avoid  morbidness  in  any  form. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  you  will  give  to  your  criticism  one  of 
its  most  valued  qualities,  appealing  humanness.  Less  final, 
perhaps,  in  some  ways,  than  the  historical  method  or  the 
method  by  standards,  the  appreciative  is  likely  to  be  of  more 
immediate  value  in  re-creating  the  work  for  your  reader,  in 
giving  him  a  real  interpretation  of  it.  And  this  method,  like 
the  other  two,  fights  against  superficiality.  Such  a  siUy  say- 
ing—  silly  in  criticism  —  as  "I  like  it  but  I  don't  know 
w^hy  "  can  have  no  place  here.  One  may  w^ell  remember  the 
answer  attributed  to  the  artist  Whistler,  when  the  gushing 
woman  remarked,  "I  don't  know  anything  about  art  but 
I  know  what  I  like ! "     "So,  Madam,  does  a  cow!"    If  you 


CRITICISM  213 

guard  against  the  morbid  or  sentimental  effusive  style,  and 
really  tell,  honestly  and  attractively,  what  you  find  good  in 
the  subject,  your  criticism  is  likely  to  be  of  value.  Note 
that  in  the  selection  which  follows,  though  the  author  feels 
strongly  toward  his  subject,  he  does  not  fall,  at  any  time, 
into  gushing  remarks  that  make  a  reader  feel  sheepish,  but 
rather  keeps  a  really  wholesome  tone  throughout. 

To-day  I  have  read  The  Tempest.  It  is  perhaps  the  play  that  I 
love  best,  and,  because  I  seem  to  myself  to  know  it  so  well,  I  com- 
monly pass  it  over  in  opening  the  book.  Yet,  as  always  in  regard 
to  Shakespeare,  having  read  it  once  more,  I  find  that  my  knowledge 
was  less  complete  than  I  supposed.  So  it  would  be,  live  as  long  as 
one  might;  so  it  would  ever  be,  whilst  one  had  the  strength  to  turn 
the  pages  and  a  mind  left  to  read  them. 

I  like  to  believe  that  this  was  the  poet's  last  work,  that  he  wrote 
it  in  his  home  in  Stratford,  walking  day  by  day  in  the  fields  which 
had  taught  his  boyhood  to  love  rural  England.  It  is  ripe  fruit 
of  the  supreme  imagination,  perfect  craft  of  the  master  hand.  For 
a  man  whose  life  business  it  has  been  to  study  the  English  tongue, 
what  joy  can  there  be  to  equal  that  of  marking  the  happy  ease 
wherewith  Shakespeare  surpasses,  in  mere  command  of  words, 
every  achievement  of  these  even,  who,  apart  from  him,  are  great? 
I  could  fancy  that,  in  The  Tempest,  he  wrought  with  a  peculiar  con- 
sciousness of  this  power,  smiling  as  the  word  of  inimitable  felicity, 
the  phrase  of  incomparable  cadence,  was  whispered  to  him  by  the 
Ariel  that  was  his  genius.  He  seems  to  sport  with  language,  to 
amuse  himself  with  new  discovery  of  its  resources.  From  king  to 
beggar,  men  of  every  rank  and  of  every  order  of  mind  have  spoken 
with  his  lips;  he  has  uttered  the  lore  of  fairyland;  now  it  pleases 
him  to  create  a  being  neither  man  nor  fairy,  a  something  between 
brute  and  human  nature,  and  to  endow  its  purposes  with  words. 
Those  words,  how  they  smack  of  the  warm  and  spawning  earth,  of 
the  life  of  creatures  that  cannot  rise  above  the  soil!  We  do  not 
think  of  it  enough;  we  stint  our  wonder  because  we  fall  short  in 
appreciation.  A  miracle  is  worked  before  us,  and  we  scarce  give 
heed;  it  has  become  familiar  to  our  minds  as  any  other  of  nature's 
marvels,  which  we  rarely  pause  to  reflect  upon. 


gl4  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  Tempest  contains  the  noblest  meditative  passage  in  all  the 
plays;  that  which  embodies  Shakespeare's  final  view  of  life,  and  is 
the  inevitable  quotation  of  all  who  would  sum  the  teachings  of 
philosophy.  It  contains  his  most  exquisite  lyrics,  his  tenderest 
love  passages,  and  one  glimpse  of  fairyland  which  —  I  cannot  but 
think  —  outshines  the  utmost  beauty  of  A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream;  Prospero's  farewell  to  the  "elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing 
lakes  and  groves."  Again  a  miracle;  these  are  things  which  can- 
not be  staled  by  repetition.  Come  to  them  often  as  you  will, 
they  are  ever  fresh  as  though  new  minted  from  the  brain  of  the 
poet.  Being  perfect,  they  can  never  droop  under  that  satiety  which 
arises  from  the  perception  of  fault;  their  virtue  can  never  be  so 
entirely  savoured  as  to  leave  no  pungency  of  gusto  for  the  next 
approach. 

Among  the  many  reasons  which  make  me  glad  to  have  been  born 
in  England,  one  of  the  first  is  that  I  read  Shakespeare  in  my  mother 
tongue.  If  I  try  to  imagine  myself  as  one  who  cannot  know  him 
face  to  face,  who  hears  him  only  speaking  from  afar,  and  that  in 
accents  which  only  through  the  laboring  intelligence  can  touch  the 
living  soul,  there  comes  upon  me  a  sense  of  chill  discouragement, 
of  dreary  deprivation.  I  am  wont  to  think  that  I  can  read  Homer, 
and,  assuredly,  if  any  man  enjoys  him,  it  is  I;  but  can  I  for  a  mo- 
ment dream  that  Homer  yields  me  all  his  music,  that  his  word  is  to 
me  as  to  him  who  walked  by  the  Hellenic  shore  when  Hellas  lived? 
I  know  that  there  reaches  me  across  the  vast  of  time  no  more  than 
a  faint  and  broken  echo;  I  know  that  it  would  be  fainter  still,  but  for 
its  blending  with  those  memories  of  youth  which  are  as  a  glimmer 
of  the  world's  primeval  glory.  Let  every  land  have  joy  of  its  poet; 
for  the  poet  is  the  land  itself,  all  its  greatness  and  its  sweetness,  all 
that  incommunicable  heritage  for  which  men  live  and  die.  As  I 
close  the  book,  love  and  reverence  possess  me.  Whether  does  my 
full  heart  turn  to  the  great  Enchanter,  or  to  the  Island  upon  which 
he  has  laid  his  spell?  I  know  not.  I  cannot  think  of  them  apart. 
In  the  love  and  reverence  awakened  by  this  voice  of  voices, 
Shakespeare  and  England  are  but  one.^ 

1  George  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryocroft,  "Summer."     By  permission  of 
the  publishers,  E.  P.  Button  &  Co.,  New  York. 


CRITICISM  215 

Practical  Helps 

We  have  said  that  criticism  of  literature  and  art  seems  to 
be  more  difBcult  than  criticism  of  machines  and  buildings  and 
commercial  systems.  It  is.  Literature  and  art,  as  being 
the  expression  of  the  high  thought  of  the  human  heart  about 
the  world,  man,  and  his  relations  to  the  world,  demand  in  a 
critic  who  attempts  to  estimate  them  at  least  some  underly- 
ing philosophy  of  life,  at  least  some  insight  into  the  affairs  of 
the  human  soul.  And  such  philosophy,  such  insight,  does 
not  come  without  being  eagerly  sought  or  without  much 
thinking.  I  can  soon  tell  whether  a  force  pump  is  efficient; 
I  may  for  some  time  pause  before  I  estimate  a  picture  or 
a  lyric  poem.  For  the  field  of  the  pump  is  small  and  defi- 
nite, its  relations  are  simple,  whereas  the  lyric  is  intimately 
bound  up  with  the  whole  of  life. 

But  we  need  not,  therefore,  despair  of  writing  criticism  of 
literature  and  art.  The  more  sensible  thing  is  to  simplify 
our  task.  This  we  can  do,  in  large  measure,  by  asking  the 
famous  three  questions  of  Coleridge:  First,  What  did  the 
author  intend  to  do?  second,  How  did  he  accomplish  his 
purpose,  well  or  ill?  third.  Was  the  purpose  worth  striving 
for?  These  three  questions,  sensibly  considered  and  prop- 
erly answered,  will  make  a  by  no  means  paltry  criticism. 

Still  the  problem  remains,  how  shall  I  write  this  criticism, 
whatever  method  I  may  be  pursuing.  Certain  points  of  ad- 
vice may  be  of  use.  In  the  first  place,  be  sure  of  your  atti- 
tude, that  it  is  fair  and  sincere,  that  it  is  honest  and  as  un- 
prejudiced as  possible.  Then  do  not  browbeat  your  reader 
into  accepting  this  attitude.  Allow  him  the  right  to  make 
final  decision,  and,  moreover,  credit  him  with  the  right  to 
some  brains  —  he  will  be  thus  much  happier.  In  the  second 
place,  be  sure  that  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
that  you  are  sure  of  the  facts,  whether  you  treat  literature  or 
machinery  or  government  or  rotation  of  crops.     Without 


216  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

proper  facts  you  can  never  reach  a  sound  conclusion.  And 
"keep  your  eye  on  the  object."  In  no  kind  of  \NTiting  is 
there  a  greater  tendency  to  fritter  off  into  related  subjects 
which  are  still  not  exactly  the  one  in  hand.  Be  sure  that  you 
write  about  the  subject,  then,  and  not  about  some  other. 
In  the  next  place,  since  many  remarks  apply  equally  well  to 
a  host  of  subjects,  as,  for  instance,  that  it  is  "efficient"  or 
"inspiring,"  aim  first  of  all,  before  you  write  a  word,  to 
find  the  one  characteristic  that  your  subject  possesses  that 
distinguishes  it  from  others.  Ask  yourself  wherein  it  is 
itself,  wherein  it  differs  from  other  like  things,  what  it  is 
without  which  this  particular  subject  would  not  be  itself. 
And  having  determined  this  point,  be  sure  to  make  your 
reader  see  it.  Whatever  else  you  do,  prize  that  characteris- 
tic as  the  jewel  of  your  criticism's  soul,  and  so  sharply  define, 
limit,  characterize  that  your  reader's  impression  will  be  not 
the  slightest  blurred.  A  student  whose  theme  in  criticism 
received  from  the  instructor  the  verdict  that  it  was  not  dis- 
tinguishing, that  it  might  apply  as  well  to  another  poet, 
replied  that  the  theme  had  originally  been  written  about 
another,  and  in  the  press  of  circumstance  had  been  copied 
with  only  a  change  in  the  title.  The  point  is  that  the  criti- 
cism had  not  been  a  good  estimate  of  the  original  subject. 
It  was  worthless  in  both  cases,  because  it  was  not  distin- 
guishing. 

Finally,  when  you  come  to  the  expression,  be  sure  that 
what  you  say  means  something,  and  tliat  you  know  what  it 
means.  Ask  yourself,  "What  docs  this  mean  that  I  have 
WTitten?"  and,  if  you  have  to  admit  that  you  do  not  know, 
in  all  conscience  suppress  it.  Avoid  the  stock  phrases  that 
are  colorless.  You  can  fling  "interesting"  at  almost  any 
book,  or  its  opposite,  "stupid,"  just  as  you  can  apply  "true 
to  life,"  "good  style,"  "suggestive,"  "gripping,"  "vital," 
"red-blooded,"  "imaginative,"  and  hosts  of  other  words  and 
phrases  equally  well  to  scores  of  subjects.     The  reviewer 


CRITICISM  217 

through  whose  mind  a  constant  stream  of  subjects  passes, 
is  forced  to  fall  into  this  cant  unless  he  be  a  genius,  but  you 
have  no  business  to  do  so.  The  trouble  here,  again,  is  in 
not  knowing  exactly  what  you  wish  to  say  and  are  saying, 
lack  of  thorough  knowledge  of  your  subject,  for  you  do  not 
know  it  until  you  have  reached  its  heart.  The  result  of 
half -knowledge  is  always  flabbiness  and  ineffectiveness. 
Be  careful,  moreover,  in  making  the  structure  of  your  total 
criticism,  especially  in  criticism  by  standards,  that  you  do 
not  make  the  form  of  your  work  seem  mechanical  and 
wooden.  Do  not,  for  example,  except  in  a  report,  give  a 
dry  list  of  the  qualities  which  the  subject  should  possess,  and 
then  one  by  one  apply  them  to  see  if  it  will  pass  muster. 
Such  writing  may  be  true,  but  it  is  awkward.  The  form  of 
critical  writing  should  be  as  neat  as  that  of  any  other  kind 
of  writing. 

And  in  all  your  attitude  and  expression  try  to  treat  the 
subject  as  far  as  possible  in  its  relation  to  humanity,  to  keep 
it  from  being  a  mere  abstraction,  to  make  it  seem  of  real 
significance  to  the  Uves  of  men,  if  possible  to  the  life  of  your 
reader. 

The  value  of  writing  criticism  should  by  this  time  be  appar- 
ent. It  forces  our  minds  out  of  the  fogginess  of  vague  think- 
ing, it  makes  us  see  things  sharply,  it  guides  us  away  from 
the  taint  of  superficiality,  it  makes  a  solid  base  for  our  opin- 
ions. Through  criticism  we  discover  why  we  are  interested, 
and  then  naturally  we  desire  more  interest,  and  by  feeding 
grow  to  a  larger  appreciation  and  conception  of  the  realm  in 
which  our  minds  are  at  work.  We  thus  do  away  with  the 
mere  chance  whim  of  like  and  dislike,  and  understand  why 
we  like  what  we  do.  In  other  words,  criticism  increases  our 
intelligent  reaction  to  life. 


218  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

EXERCISES 

I.  Mr.  Lowell's  Work  in  England  (page  193). 

1.  By  what  standards  is  the  work  of  Lowell  as  United  States  Min- 
ister to  England  criticized.''     • 

2.  Do  these  standards  exhaust  the  qualifications  of  an  admirable 
minister? 

3.  If  not,  what  other  standards  would  you  suggest.' 

4.  AVhat  is  the  controlling  purpose  of  the  criticism? 

5.  In  view  of  this  controlling  purpose,  are  the  standards  which  the 
criticism  includes  suflScient? 

6.  Write  a  similar  criticism  on  any  of  the  following  subjects: 

The  presidency  of  Theodore  Roosevelt. 

The  presidency  of  Woodrow  Wilson. 

The  work  of  Mr.  Goethals  on  the  Panama  Canal. 

The  career  of  Mr.  Bryce  as  British  Ambassador  to  the  United 
States. 

The  career  of  James  J.  HiU,  or  of  Cecil  Rhodes,  as  Empire- 
builders. 

7.  Write  a  historical  criticism  of  Lowell's  career  in  England,  account- 
ing/or the  attitude  he  assumed  as  determined  by  the  understand- 
ing of  America  which  the  English  nation  of  the  time  had,  and  by 
Lowell's  character. 

II.  The  American  Business  Man  (page  197). 

1.  Criticize  any  of  the  following  by  accoimting  for  their  rise  and 
their  characteristics: 

The  athletic  coach  in  American  colleges. 

The  present-day  university  president. 

The  "information"  man  at  the  railway  station. 

The  county  adviser  in  agriculture. 

The  reference  librarian. 

The  floorwalker  in  department  stores. 

2.  Write  an  appreciative  criticism  of  the  American  Business  Man  as 
he  might  seem  to  an  Englishman  on  his  first  trip  to  America;  as  he 
might  seem  to  Plato;  to  Napoleon;  to  the  poet  Shelley;  to  Shake- 
speare; to  a  Turkish  rug  merchant. 

in.  The  "New  Poetry"  (page  200). 

1.  Is  this  criticism  fair  and  unbiased? 

2.  What  attitude  does  the  author  try  to  create  in  the  reader?  How 
would  the  choice  of  material  have  differed  had  the  author  desired 
an  opposite  effect? 

3.  Criticize,  by  relating  to  the  times  in  which  the  subject  appeared, 
the  following:  Cubist  Art,  Sentimentalism,  The  Renaissance  of 
Wonder,  The  Dime  Novel,  The  Wild-West  Moving  Picture  Film. 

IV.   Cargo  Steamers  (page  203) . 

1.  Criticize,  by  the  method  used  in  this  example:  Gang  Flows, 


CRITICISM  219 

Electric  Street  Cars,  Football  Fields,  Art  Galleries  (their  archi- 
tecture). Adding  Machines,  Systems  of  Bookkeeping. 
V.  The  English  Language  (page  205). 

1.  Criticize,  by  the  method  of  standards,  the   following:  American 
Costumes  as  Candidates  for  Universal  Use,  The  Metric  System, 
The  American  Monetary  System,  The  Gary  Schools,  The  Civic 
Center  Idea. 
VI.  English  Cooking  (page  210). 

1.  If  Gissing  had  been  criticizing  EngUsh  cooking  from  the  point  of 
view  of  a  dietitian,  what  standards  would  he  have  chosen? 

2.  Criticize  modern  American  cooking  by  showing  its  rise  and  the 
influences  that  have  controlled  it. 

3.  Write  an  appreciative  criticism  of  any  of  the  following  subjects: 
Thanksgiving  Dinner  in  the  Country,  A  "Wienie  Roast,"  The 
First  Good  Meal  after  an  Illness,  The  Old  Swimmin'  Hole,  The 
Fudge  that  Went  Wrong,  American  Hat  Trimming,  The  Florist's 
Shop,  Grandmother's  Garden,  The  Old  Orchard. 

VII.  The  Tempest  (page  213). 

1.  Does  Gissing  here  allow  his  natural  bias  as  an  Englishman  to 
sway  him  too  much?  Do  you  know  as  much  about  The  Tem- 
pest, from  this  criticism,  as  you  would  like  to? 

2.  Criticize,  as  an  American,  with  yet  due  restraint:  Lincoln's  Ad- 
dresses, Mr.  Wilson's  Leadership  in  Idealism,  Walt  Whitman's 
"Captain,  My  Captain,"  MacDowell's  "Indian  Suite"  or  "Sea 
Pieces"  or  "Woodland  Sketches,"  St.  Gaudens'  "Lincoln," 
O.  Henry's  Stories  of  New  York,  John  Burroughs'  Nature  Es- 
says, Patrick  Henry's  Speeches,  Mrs.  Wharton's  Short  Stories. 

VIII.  Make  a  list  of  trite  or  often  used  expressions  that  you  find  in  criti- 
cisms in  the  weekly  "  literary"  page  of  an  American  newspaper.  Try 
to  substitute  diction  that  is  more  truly  alive. 
IX.  When  next  you  hear  a  symphony,  listen  so  that  you  can  write  an 
Appreciative  Criticism.  Then  look  up  the  history  of  symphonic 
music  and  the  life  of  the  composer,  and  write  a  Historical  Criticism. 
Do  this  with  any  piano  composition  which  you  admire. 
X.  Rock  Drills. 

Tappet  valve  drills  were  the  earliest  design  made  for  regular 
work,  and  are  now  the  only  type  really  suitable  for  work  with 
steam,  as  the  condensation  of  the  steam  interferes  with  other  valve 
actions.  They  have  also  special  advantages  for  certain  work 
which  have  prevented  them  from  becoming  obsolete.  The  valve 
motion  is  positive  and  not  affected  by  moisture  in  compressed  air. 
The  machine  will  keep  on  boring  a  hole  that  may  offer  great  fric- 
tional  resistance  where  some  other  drills  would  stick. 

Disadvantages.  These  drills  cannot  deliver  a  perfectly  "free" 
or  "  dead"  blow.   In  other  words,  there  is  always  some  exhaust  air 


g20  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

from  the  front  of  the  piston,  caught  between  it  and  the  cylinder  by 
the  reversal  of  the  valve  just  before  the  forward  stroke  is  finished. 
In  some  ground  this  is  by  no  means  a  defect,  for  where  the  ground 
is  dead  or  sticky  this  cushion  helps  to  "pick  the  drill  up"  for  a 
rapid  and  sure  return  stroke,  preventing  its  sticking  and  insuring 
a  maximum  number  of  blows  per  minute.  The  length  of  stroke 
must  be  kept  long  enough  for  the  movement  of  the  piston  to  knock 
over  the  valve.  The  valve  on  the  Rio  Tinto  machine  is  a  piston, 
or  spool  valve;  on  other  machines  the  valve  is  of  the  plain  D-slide 
valve  type.  The  Rand  "giant"  drill  has  a  device  to  reduce  the 
total  air  pressiu-e  on  the  back  of  the  valve.  This  of  course  makes 
the  valve  take  up  its  own  wear  and  form  its  own  bearing  surface, 
thus  reducing  leakage.  The  seats  generally  require  periodical 
cleaning  and  are  raised  to  give  material  to  allow  "scraping  up." 

Where  the  lubrication  is  deficient,  as  it  generally  is,  the  coeffi- 
cient of  friction  may  reach  25  per  cent,  especially  in  the  presence 
of  grit.  Taking  a  valve  area  of  6  sq.  in.  exposed  to  80-lb.  pressure, 
it  might  require  a  force  of  120  lbs.  to  move  the  valve.  This  means 
that  the  blow  struck  by  the  piston  is  retarded  to  a  corresponding 
degree,  and  in  some  cases  the  valve  tends  to  wear  its  seat  into  an 
irregular  surface.  Some  writers  have  contended  that  the  turning 
movement  of  the  piston  is  also  hindered;  but  as  the  blow  of  the 
tappet  occurs  at  the  beginning  and  end  of  the  stroke,  while  the 
turning  movement  is  a  positive  and  continuous  one  along  all  the 
length  of  the  back  stroke,  this  effect  is  not  noticeable.  As  the  tap- 
pet is  struck  400  to  600  times  per  minute,  the  wear  and  stress  is  great. 
Specially  hardened  surfaces  on  pistons  and  tappets  are  needed  as 
well  as  large  wearing  surfaces,  or  renewable  bushings,  for  the  tap- 
pet to  rock  on.  When  wear  takes  place  the  throw  of  the  valve  is 
reduced;  cushioning  becomes  greater  and  the  stroke  is  shortened. 
The  resistance  and  pressure  of  the  tappet  tends  to  throw  in- 
creased and  unequal  wear  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  cylinder.^ 

1.  If  you  were  writing  an  appreciative  criticism  of  the  working  of 
a  rock  drill,  how  would  you  change  the  style  of  writing? 

2.  Write  a  criticism  by  standards  of  the  Water-Tube  Boiler,  of 
the  Diesel  Engine,  of  Oil  as  Fuel  for  Ships,  of  one  particular 
make  of  Corn  Planter  or  Wheel  Hoc,  or  Piano,  or  Motorcycle, 
or  Machine  Gun,  or  Mining  Explosive,  or  of  one  method  of 
Advertising,  or  of  the  German  Army,  or  of  the  Dreadnaught  as 
a  Fighting  Machine. 

XI.  Jingo  Morality. 

Captain  Mahan's  chosen  example  is  the  British  occupation  of 
Egypt.     To  discuss  the  morality  of  this,  he  says,  is  "as  little  to  the 

*  Eustace  M.  "Weston:  Rock  Drills.    By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  McGraw-Hill  Publish* 
ing  Company. 


CRITICISM  221 

point  as  the  morality  of  an  earthquake."  It  was  for  the  beneBt  of 
the  world  at  large  and  of  the  people  of  Egypt  —  no  matter  what 
the  latter  might  think  about  it,  or  how  they  would  have  voted 
about  it  —  and  that  is  enough.  Tacitly,  he  makes  the  same  doc- 
trine apply  to  the  great  e.xpansion  of  the  foreign  power  of  the 
United  States,  which  he  foresees  and  for  which  he  wants  a  navy 
"developed  in  proportion  to  the  reasonable  possibilities  of  the 
future  political."  What  these  possibilities  are  he  nowhere  says, 
and  he  gives  the  reader  no  chance  of  judging  whether  they  are 
reasonable  or  not.  But  he  speaks  again  and  again  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  nation  and  of  national  sentiment  as  a  "natural  force," 
moving  on  to  its  desired  end,  unconscious  and  unmoral.  What  he 
says  of  British  domination  over  Egypt,  Captain  Mahan  would 
evidently  and  logically  be  ready  to  say  of  American  domination  of 
any  inferior  power  —  that  it  has  no  more  to  do  with  morality  than 
an  earthquake. 

Of  course,  this  really  means  the  glorification  of  brute  force.  The 
earthquake  view  of  international  relations  does  away  at  once  with 
all  questions  of  law  and  justice  and  humanity,  and  puts  every- 
thing frankly  on  the  basis  of  armor  and  guns.  Finerty  could  ask 
no  more.  No  one  could  accuse  Captain  Mahan  of  intending  this, 
yet  he  must  "follow  the  argument."  He  speaks  approvingly  of 
international  interference  with  Tiu"key  on  account  of  the  Arme- 
nian atrocities.  But  has  not  the  Sultan  a  complete  defense,  accord- 
ing to  Captain  Mahan's  doctrine?  Is  he  not  an  earthquake,  too.' 
Are  not  the  Turks  going  blindly  ahead,  in  Armenia,  as  a  "natural 
force,"  and  is  anybody  likely  to  be  foolish  enough  to  discuss  the 
morality  of  a  law  of  nature?  Of  course,  the  powers  tell  the  Sultan 
that  he  is  no  earthquake  at  all,  or,  if  he  is,  that  they  will  bring  to 
bear  upon  him  a  bigger  one  which  will  shake  him  into  the  Bosphorus. 
But  if  there  is  no  cjuestion  of  morality  involved,  the  argument  and 
the  action  are  simply  so  much  brute  force;  and  that,  we  say,  is  what 
Captain  Mahan's  doctrine  logically  comes  to. 

Another  inadvertent  revelation  of  the  real  implications  of  his 
views  is  given  where  he  is  dwelling  on  the  fact  that  "the  United 
States  will  never  seek  war  except  for  the  defense  of  her  rights,  her 
obligations,  or  her  necessary  interests."  There  is  a  fine  ambiguity 
about  the  final  phrase,  but  let  that  pass.  No  one  can  suspect  that 
Captain  Mahan  means  to  do  anything  in  public  or  private  rela- 
tions that  he  does  not  consider  absolutely  just.  But  note  the  way 
the  necessity  of  arguing  for  a  big  navy  clouds  his  mind  when  he 
writes  of  some  supposed  international  difficulty:  "But  the  moral 
force  of  our  contention  might  conceivably  be  weakened,  in  the 
view  of  an  opponent,  by  attendant  circumstances,  in  which  case 
our  physical  power  to  support  it  shovlfl  be  open  to  no  douht."  That 
is  to  say,  we  must  always  have  morality  and  sweet  reasonableness 


222  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

on  our  side,  must  have  all  our  quarrels  just,  must  have  all  the  prece- 
dents and  international  law  in  our  favor,  but  must  be  prepared  to 
lick  the  other  fellow  anyhow,  if  he  is  so  thick-headed  and  obstinate 
as  to  insist  that  morals  and  justice  are  on  his  side. 

This  earthquake  and  physical-power  doctrine  is  a  most  danger- 
ous one  for  any  time  or  people,  but  is  peculiarly  dangerous  in  this 
country  at  this  time.  The  politicians  and  the  mob  will  be  only 
too  thankful  to  be  furnished  a  high-sounding  theory  as  a  justifica- 
tion for  their  ignorant  and  brutal  proposals  for  foreign  conquest 
and  aggression.  They  will  not  be  slow,  either,  in  extending  and 
improving  the  theory.  They  will  take  a  less  roundabout  course 
than  Captain  Mahan  does  to  the  final  argument  of  physical  power. 
If  it  comes  to  that  in  the  end,  what  is  the  use  of  bothering  about  all 
these  preliminaries  of  right  and  law?  They  will  be  willing  to  call 
themselves  an  earthquake  or  a  cyclone,  if  only  their  devastating 
propensities  can  be  freely  gratified  without  any  question  of  morals 
coming  in.  With  so  many  signs  of  relaxed  moral  fiber  about  us, 
in  public  and  in  private  life,  it  is  no  time  to  preach  the  gospel  of 
force,  even  when  the  preacher  is  so  attractive  a  man  and  writer  as 
Captain  Mahan.  ^ 

1.  In  the  light  of  this  criticism,  write  an  estimate,  on  the  standard 
of  high  moral  international  relations,  of  Mr.  Wilson's  policy 
toward  Mexico. 

2.  Write  a  criticism  by  standards  of  the  remark  of  Mr.  Lloyd 
George  and  Mr.  George  Creel  that  they  are  thankful  that  Eng- 
land, that  America,  were  not  prepared  for  war  in  1914. 

8.  Write  an  appreciative  criticism  of  Captain  Mahan's  doctrine 
from  the  point  of  view  of  a  man  who  thumps  bis  chest  and  cries 
"America  iiber  Alles!"  Compare  the  sanity  of  your  criticism 
with  that  of  the  article  above. 

4.  Would  the  criticism  of  Captain  Mahan's  doctrine  be  sounder 
if  he  had  been  a  German? 

5.  Criticize  the  statement  that  what  young  people  need  is  indus- 
trial education,  something  to  teach  them  how  to  earn  a  living. 
Then  criticize  the  other  statement  that  the  necessary  thing  is 
to  make  young  people  into  fine  personalities,  into  true  gentle- 
men and  gentlewomen. 

XII.  Vegetarianism. 

There  is  to  me  an  odd  pathos  in  the  literature  of  vegetarianism. 
I  remember  the  day  when  I  read  these  periodicals  and  pamphlets 
with  all  the  zest  of  hunger  and  poverty,  vigorously  seeking  to  per- 
suade myself  that  flesh  was  an  altogether  superfluous,  and  even 

'  Gustav  Pollak:  Fifty  Years  of  American  Idealism,    Houghton  Mifflin  Company.    By 
courtesy  of  The  Nation. 


CRITICISM  223 

repulsive,  food.  If  ever  such  things  fall  under  my  eyes  nowadays, 
I  am  touched  with  a  half  humorous  compassion  for  the  people 
whose  necessity,  not  their  will,  consents  to  this  chemical  view  of 
diet.  There  comes  before  me  the  vision  of  certain  vegetarian 
restaurants,  where,  at  a  minimum  outlay,  I  have  often  enough 
made  believe  to  satisfy  my  craving  stomach;  where  I  have  swal- 
lowed "  savory  cutlet,"  "vegetable  steak,"  and  I  know  not  what 
windy  insufficiencies  tricked  up  under  specious  names.  One  place 
do  I  recall  where  you  had  a  complete  dinner  for  sixpence  —  I  dare 
not  try  to  remember  the  items.  But  well  indeed  do  I  see  the  faces 
of  the  guests  —  poor  clerks  and  shopboys,  bloodless  girls  and 
women  of  many  sorts  —  all  endeavoring  to  find  a  relish  in  lentil 
soup  and  haricot  something-or-other.  It  was  a  grotesquely  heart- 
breaking sight. 

I  hate  -n-ith  a  bitter  hatred  the  names  of  lentils  and  haricots  — 
those  pretentious  cheats  of  the  appetite,  those  tabulated  humbugs, 
those  certificated  aridities  calling  themselves  human  food!  An 
ounce  of  either,  we  are  told,  is  equivalent  to  —  how  many  pounds? 
of  the  best  rump-steak.  There  are  not  many  ounces  of  common 
sense  in  the  brain  of  him  who  proves  it,  or  of  him  who  believes  it. 
In  some  countries,  this  stuff  is  eaten  by  choice;  in  England  only 
dire  need  can  compel  to  its  consumption.  Lentils  and  haricots  are 
not  merely  insipid;  frequent  use  of  them  causes  something  like 
nausea.  Preach  and  tabulate  as  you  will,  the  English  palate  — 
which  is  the  supreme  judge  —  rejects  this  farinaceous  makeshift. 
Even  as  it  rejects  vegetables  without  the  natural  concomitant  of 
meat;  as  it  rejects  oatmeal-porridge  and  griddle-cakes  for  a  mid- 
day meal;  as  it  rejects  lemonade  and  ginger-ale  offered  as  substi- 
tutes for  honest  beer. 

What  is  the  intellectual  and  moral  state  of  that  man  who  really 
believes  that  chemical  analysis  can  be  an  equivalent  for  natural 
gusto? —  I  will  get  more  nourishment  out  of  an  inch  of  right  Cam- 
bridge sausage;  aye,  out  of  a  couple  of  ounces  of  honest  tripe;  than 
can  be  yielded  me  by  half  a  hundredweight  of  the  best  lentils  ever 
grown.  ^ 

1.  Write  a  criticism  by  standards  of  this  appreciative  criticism. 
Is  Gissing  fair  or  sensible  in  his  attitude.'' 

2.  Write  an  appreciative  criticism  of  Feminism,  Temperance, 
Socialism,  Open-Air  Sleeping,  The  Bahai  Movement  in  Amer- 
ica, Community  Singing,  The  Moving  Picture  as  Substitute 
for  the  Novel,  Drinks  that  Do  Away  with  Coffee,  Systems 
for  Growing  Strong  without  Effort. 

3.  How  far  ought  a  writer  to  allow  purely  personal  reaction  to 
determine  his  judgment  in  criticism  ? 

•  George  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecrojl,  "Winter."    By  permission  of  the 
publishers,  E.  P.  Button  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 


224  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

XIII.  Emerson's  Literary  Quality. 

Emerson's  quality  has  changed  a  good  deal  in  his  later  T\Titings. 
His  corn  is  no  longer  in  the  milk;  it  has  grown  hard,  and  we  that 
read  have  grown  hard  too.  He  has  now  ceased  to  be  an  expansive, 
revolutionary  force,  but  he  has  not  ceased  to  be  a  WTiter  of  extraor- 
dinary gripe  and  unexpected  resources  of  statement.  His  startling 
piece  of  advice,  "Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star,"  is  typical  of  the 
man,  as  combining  the  most  unlike  and  widely  separate  qualities. 
Because  not  less  marked  than  his  idealism  and  mysticism  is  his 
shrewd  common  sense,  his  practical  bent,  his  definiteness,  —  in 
fact,  the  sharp  New  England  mould  in  which  he  is  cast.  He  is  the 
master  Yankee,  the  centennial  flower  of  that  thrifty  and  peculiar 
stock.  More  especially  in  his  later  writings  and  speakings  do  we 
see  the  native  New  England  traits,  —  the  alertness,  eagerness,  in- 
quisitiveness,  thrift,  dryness,  archness,  caution,  the  nervous  en- 
ergy as  distinguished  from  the  old  English  unction  and  vascular 
force.  How  he  husbands  himself,  —  what  prudence,  what  econ- 
omy, always  spending  up,  as  he  says,  and  not  down!  How  alert, 
how  attentive;  what  an  inquisitor;  always  ready  with  some  test 
question,  with  some  fact  or  idea  to  match  or  verify,  ever  on  the 
lookout  for  some  choice  bit  of  adventure  or  information,  or  some 
anecdote  that  has  pith  and  point!  No  tyro  basks  and  takes  his 
ease  in  his  presence,  but  is  instantly  put  on  trial  and  must  answer 
or  be  disgraced.  He  strikes  at  an  idea  like  a  falcon  at  a  bird.  His 
great  fear  seems  to  be  lest  there  be  some  fact  or  point  worth  know- 
ing that  will  escape  him.  He  is  a  close-browed  miser  of  the  schol- 
ar's gains.  He  turns  all  values  into  intellectual  coin.  Every  book 
or  person  or  experience  is  an  investment  that  will  or  will  not  warrant 
a  good  return  in  ideas.  He  goes  to  the  Radical  Club,  or  to  the 
literary  gathering,  and  listens  with  the  closest  attention  to  every 
word  that  is  said,  in  hope  that  something  will  be  said,  some  word 
dropped,  that  has  the  ring  of  the  true  metal.  Apparently  he  does 
not  permit  himself  a  moment's  indifference  or  inattention.  His 
own  pride  is  always  to  have  the  ready  change,  to  speak  the  exact 
and  proper  word,  to  give  to  every  occasion  the  dignity  of  wise 
speech.  You  are  bartered  with  for  your  best.  There  is  no  profit 
in  life  but  in  the  interchange  of  ideas,  and  the  chief  success  is  to 
have  a  head  well  filled  with  them.  Hard  cash  at  that;  no  paper 
promises  satisfy  him;  he  loves  the  clink  and  glint  of  the  real  coin. 

His  earlier  writings  were  more  flowing  and  suggestive,  and  had 
reference  to  larger  problems;  but  now  everything  has  got  weighed 
and  stamped  and  converted  into  the  medium  of  wise  and  scholarly 
conversation.  It  is  of  great  value;  these  later  essays  are  so  many 
bags  of  genuine  coin,  which  it  has  taken  a  lifetime  to  hoard  ;  not 
all  gold,  but  all  good,  and  the  fruit  of  wise  industry  and  economy. i 
*  John  Burroughs:  Birds  and  Poets.    Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Boston,  publishers. 


CRITICISM  225 

1.  Would  you  describe  this  as  appreciative  criticism  or  criticism 
by  standards?  If  it  is  appreciative,  has  it  any  of  the  value  that 
we  commonly  attribute  to  criticism  by  standards?  Why? 
If  it  is  criticism  by  standards,  does  it  approach  the  appreciative? 
Why? 

2.  Criticize,  in  the  method  that  Mr.  Burroughs  uses,  the  literary 
quality  and  message  of  Carlyle,  Walt  Whitman,  William  James, 
John  Dewey,  Macaulay,  Hawthorne,  Arnold  Bennett,  and 
others. 

3.  Criticize,  in  the  same  manner,  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony, 
the  Cathedral  of  Rheims,  the  Parthenon,  the  Capitol  at  Wash- 
ington, Michigan  Boulevard  in  Chicago,  the  Skyline  of  Lower 
New  York,  the  Sweep  of  the  Mississippi  River,  the  Quality  of 
Niagara  Falls,  the  Quality  of  Harold  Bell  Wright's  Works.  Of 
course  any  other  individual  can  be  substituted  for  any  of  these. 

XIV.   Military  Drill. 

A  lettered  German,  speaking  to  me  once  of  his  year  of  military 
service,  told  me  that,  had  it  lasted  but  a  month  or  two  longer,  he 
must  have  sought  release  in  suicide.  I  know  very  well  that  my 
own  courage  would  not  have  borne  me  to  the  end  of  the  twelve- 
month; humiliation,  resentment,  loathing,  would  have  goaded  me 
to  madness.  At  school  we  used  to  be  "drilled"  in  the  playground 
once  a  week;  I  have  but  to  think  of  it,  even  after  forty  years,  and 
there  comes  back  upon  me  that  tremor  of  passionate  misery  which, 
at  the  time,  often  made  me  ill.  The  senseless  routine  of  mechani- 
cal exercise  was  in  itself  all  but  unendurable  to  me;  I  hated  the 
standing  in  line,  the  thrusting  out  of  arms  and  legs  at  a  signal,  the 
thud  of  feet  stamping  in  constrained  unison.  The  loss  of  individu- 
ality seems  to  me  sheer  disgrace.  And  when,  as  often  happened, 
the  drill-sergeant  rebuked  me  for  some  inefficiency  as  I  stood 
in  line,  when  he  addressed  me  as  "Number  Seven!"  I  burned 
with  shame  and  rage.  I  was  no  longer  a  human  being;  I  had  be- 
come part  of  a  machine,  and  my  name  was  "Number  Seven." 
It  used  to  astonish  me  when  I  had  a  neighbor  who  went  through 
the  drill  with  amusement,  with  zealous  energy.  I  would  gaze  at 
the  boy,  and  ask  myself  how  it  was  possible  that  he  and  I  should 
feel  so  differently.  To  be  sure,  nearly  all  my  schoolfellows  either 
enjoyed  the  thing,  or  at  all  events  went  through  it  with  indiffer- 
ence; they  made  friends  with  the  sergeant,  and  some  were  proud  of 
walking  with  him  "  out  of  bounds."  Left,  right!  Left,  right!  For 
my  own  part,  I  think  I  have  never  hated  man  as  I  hated  that  broad- 
shouldered,  hard-visaged,  brassy-voiced  fellow.  Every  word  he 
spoke  to  me  I  felt  as  an  insult.  Seeing  him  in  the  distance,  I  have 
turned  and  fled,  to  escape  the  necessity  of  saluting,  and,  still  more, 
a  quiver  of  the  nerves  which  affected  me  so  painfully.     If  ever  a 


226  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

man  did  me  harm,  it  was  he;  harm  physical  and  moral.  In  all  seri- 
ousness I  believe  that  some  of  the  nervous  instability  from  which 
I  have  suffered  from  boyhood  is  traceable  to  those  accursed  hours 
of  drill,  and  I  am  very  sure  that  I  can  date  from  the  same  wretched 
moments  a  fierceness  of  personal  pride  which  has  been  one  of  my 
most  troublesome  characteristics.  The  disposition,  of  course,  was 
there;  it  should  have  been  modified,  not  exacerbated. ^ 

1.  Draw  up  a  list  of  the  headings  that  might  appear  in  a  criticism 
of  military  drill  by  standards,  in  a  criticism  by  the  historical 
method,  and  in  a  less  purely  personal  appreciative  criticism 
than  the  example  here.  Which  of  the  criticisms,  as  judged  from 
these  headings,  would  be  of  most  value  to  a  reader  of  intelli- 
gence? 

2.  In  a  subject  like  this  is  so  strong  a  personal  reaction  justified? 
Is  it  possibly  of  real  value?  Does  the  criticism  prove  anything 
about  military  drill? 

3.  Write  an  appreciative  criticism  of  a  thoroughly  personal  nature 
of  any  of  the  following:  Carpentry,  Rug-beating,  Chapel-attend- 
ance, Memorizing  Poetry,  Repairing  Automobiles  in  the  Mud, 
Fishing  in  the  Rain,  Cleaning  House,  Getting  up  Early,  Being 
Polite  to  People  Whom  You  Dislike,  Being  Made  to  Do  One's 
Duty,  College  Politics. 

XV.  National  Sentiment. 

National  sentiment  is  a  fact  and  should  be  taken  account  of  by 
institutions.  When  it  is  ignored,  it  is  intensified  and  becomes  a 
source  of  strife.  It  can  be  rendered  harmless  only  by  being  given 
free  play  so  long  as  it  is  not  predatory.  But  it  is  not,  in  itself,  a 
good  or  admirable  feeling.  There  is  nothing  rational  and  nothing 
desirable  in  a  limitation  of  sympathy  which  confines  it  to  a  frag- 
ment of  the  human  race.  Diversities  of  manners  and  customs  and 
traditions  are  on  the  whole  a  good  thing,  since  they  enable  different 
nations  to  produce  different  types  of  excellence.  But  in  national 
feeling  there  is  always  latent  or  explicit  an  element  of  hostility  to 
foreigners.  National  feeling,  as  we  know  it,  could  not  exist  in  a 
nation  which  was  wholly  free  of  external  pressure  of  a  hostile  kind. 

And  group  feeling  produces  a  limited  and  often  harmful  kind  of 
morality.  Men  come  to  identify  the  good  with  what  serves  the 
interest  of  their  own  group,  and  the  bad  with  what  works  against 
those  interests,  even  if  it  should  happen  to  be  in  the  interest  of 
mankind  as  a  whole.  This  group  morality  is  very  much  in  evi- 
dence during  war,  and  is  taken  for  granted  in  men's  ordinary 
thought.     Although  almost  all  Englishmen  consider  the  defeat  of 

*  George  Gissing:  The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecrofl,"  Spring."    By  permission  of  the 
publishers,  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.,  New  York  City. 


CRITICISM  227 

Germany  desirable  for  the  good  of  the  world,  yet  most  of  them 
honor  a  German  fighting  for  his  country,  because  it  has  not  oc- 
curred to  them  that  his  action  ought  to  be  guided  by  a  morality 
higher  than  that  of  the  group.  A  man  does  right,  as  a  rule,  to 
have  his  thoughts  more  occupied  with  the  interests  of  his  own  na- 
tion than  with  those  of  others,  because  his  actions  are  more  likely 
to  affect  his  own  nation.  But  in  time  of  war,  and  in  all  matters 
which  are  of  equal  concern  to  other  nations  and  to  his  own,  a  man 
ought  to  take  account  of  the  universal  welfare,  and  not  allow  his 
survey  to  be  limited  by  the  interest,  or  supposed  interest,  of  his 
own  group  or  nation.^ 

1.  Write  a  criticism  of  any  of  the  following,  judging  by  the  results 
produced:  School  Spirit,  Capitalism,  Living  in  a  Small  Town, 
National  Costume,  Giving  up  One's  Patriotism,  Family  Loy- 
alty, Race  Loyalty,  Class  Distinction,  Restriction  of  Reading 
to  the  authors  of  One  Nation. 

2.  Would  Mr.  Russell's  criticism  be  of  more  value  if  it  showed 
more  emotion,  if  it  were  less  detached?  Can  a  writer  profitably 
criticize  such  a  reality  as  national  sentiment  without  introducing 
emotion? 

XVI.  A  constitutional  statesman  is  in  general  a  man  of  common  opin- 
ions and  uncommon  abilities.  The  reason  is  obvious.  When  we 
speak  of  a  free  government,  we  mean  a  government  in  which  the 
sovereign  power  is  divided,  in  which  a  single  decision  is  not  abso- 
lute, where  argument  has  an  office.  The  essence  of  the  gouverne- 
ment  des  avocats,  as  the  Emperor  Nicholas  called  it,  is,  that  you 
must  persuade  so  many  persons.  The  appeal  is  not  to  the  solitary 
decision  of  a  single  statesman,  —  not  to  Richelieu  or  Nesselrode 
alone  in  his  closet,  —  but  to  the  jangled  mass  of  men,  with  a  thou- 
sand pursuits,  a  thousand  interests,  a  thousand  various  habits. 
Public  opinion,  as  it  is  said,  rules;  and  public  opinion  is  the  opin- 
ion of  the  average  man.  Fox  used  to  say  of  Burke,  "Burke  is  a 
wise  man,  but  he  is  wise  too  soon."  The  average  man  will  not 
bear  this :  he  is  a  cool,  common  person,  with  a  considerate  air,  with 
figm-es  in  his  mind,  with  his  o^vti  business  to  attend  to,  with  a  set 
of  ordinary  opinions  arising  from  and  suited  to  ordinary  life.  He 
can't  bear  novelty  or  originalities;  he  says,  "Sir,  I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing  hefare  in  my  life,"  and  he  thinks  this  a  rednctio  ad 
absurdum.  You  may  see  his  taste  by  the  reading  of  which  he 
approves.  Is  there  a  more  splendid  monument  of  talent  and  in- 
dustry than  the  Times  ?  No  wonder  that  the  average  man  —  that 
any  one  —  believes  in  it.     As  Carlyle  observes:  "Let  the  highest 

'  Bertrand  Russell:   National  Independence  and  Internationalum.    By  courtesy  of  The 
Atlantic  Monthly  Compaay. 


EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

intellect,  able  to  xvTite  epics,  try  to  write  such  a  leader  for  the  morn- 
ing newspapers :  it  cannot  do  it;  the  highest  intellect  will  fail."  But 
did  you  ever  see  anything  there  that  j'ou  had  never  seen  before? 
Out  of  the  million  articles  that  every  one  has  read,  can  any  one  per- 
son trace  a  single  marked  idea  to  a  single  article?  Where  are  the 
deep  theories  and  the  wise  axioms  and  the  everlasting  sentiments 
■which  the  writers  of  the  most  influential  publication  in  the  world 
have  been  the  first  to  communicate  to  an  ignorant  species?  Such 
writers  are  far  too  shrewd.  The  two  million  or  whatever  num- 
ber of  copies  it  may  be  they  publish,  are  not  purchased  because  the 
buyers  wish  to  know  the  truth.  The  purchaser  desires  an  article 
which  he  can  appreciate  at  sight;  which  he  can  lay  down  and  say, 
"  An  excellent  article,  very  excellent  —  exactly  my  own  senti- 
ments." Original  theories  give  trouble;  besides,  a  grave  man  on  the 
Coal  Exchange  does  not  desire  to  be  an  apostle  of  novelties  among 
the  contemporaneous  dealers  in  fuel,  —  he  wants  to  be  provided 
with  remarks  he  can  make  on  the  topics  of  the  day  which  will  not  be 
known  7iot  to  be  his,  that  are  not  too  profound,  which  he  can  fancy 
the  paper  only  reminded  him  of.  And  just  in  the  same  way,  pre- 
cisely as  the  most  popular  political  paper  is  not  that  which  is  ab- 
stractly the  best  or  most  instructive,  but  that  which  most  exactly 
takes  up  the  minds  of  men  where  it  finds  them,  catches  the 
fleeting  sentiment  of  society,  puts  it  in  such  a  form  as  society 
can  fancy  would  convince  another  society  which  did  not  believe; 
so  the  most  influential  of  constitutional  statesmen  is  the  one  who 
most  felicitously  expresses  the  creed  of  the  moment,  who  adminis- 
ters it,  who  embodies  it  in  laws  and  institutions,  who  gives  it  the 
highest  life  it  is  capable  of,  who  induces  the  average  man  to  think, 
"I  could  not  have  done  it  any  better  if  I  had  had  time  myself." 

It  might  be  said  that  this  is  only  one  of  the  results  of  that 
tyranny  of  commonplace  which  seems  to  accompany  civilization. 
You  may  talk  of  the  tyranny  of  Nero  and  Tiberius;  but  the  real 
tyranny  is  the  tyranny  of  your  next-door  neighbor.  What  law  is 
so  cruel  as  the  law  of  doing  what  he  does?  What  yoke  is  so  galling 
as  the  necessity  of  being  like  him?  What  espionage  of  despotism 
comes  to  your  door  so  effectually  as  the  eye  of  the  man  who  lives 
at  your  door?  Public  opinion  is  a  permeating  influence,  and  it 
exacts  obedience  to  itself;  it  requires  us  to  think  other  men's 
thoughts,  to  speak  other  men's  words,  to  follow  other  men's  hab- 
its. Of  course,  if  we  do  not,  no  formal  ban  issues;  no  corporeal 
pain,  no  coarse  penalty  of  a  barbarous  society  is  inflicted  on  the 
offender:  but  we  are  called  "eccentric";  there  is  a  gentle  murmur 
of  "most  unfortunate  ideas,"  "singular  young  man,"  "well-in- 
tentioned, I  dare  say;  but  unsafe,  sir,  quite  unsafe."  The  prudent 
of  course  conform:  The  place  of  nearly  everybody  depends  on  the 
opinion  of  every  one  else.    There  is  nothing  like  Swift's  precept  to 


CRITICISM  229 

attain  the  repute  of  a  sensible  man,  "Be  of  the  opinion  of  the  per- 
son with  whom  at  the  time  you  are  conversing."  This  world  is 
given  to  those  whom  this  world  can  trust.  Our  very  conversation 
is  infected:  where  are  now  the  bold  humor,  the  explicit  statement, 
the  grasping  dogmatism  of  former  days?  they  have  departed, 
and  you  read  in  the  orthodox  works  dreary  regrets  that  the  art  of 
conversation  has  passed  away.  It  would  be  as  reasonable  to  ex- 
pect the  art  of  walking  to  pass  away:  people  talk  well  enough  when 
they  know  to  whom  they  are  speaking;  we  might  even  say  that  the 
art  of  conversation  was  improved  by  an  application  to  new  circum- 
stances. "Secrete  your  intellect,  use  common  words,  say  what 
you  are  expected  to  say,"  and  you  shall  be  at  peace;  the  secret  of 
prosperity  in  common  life  is  to  be  commonplace  on  principle. 

Whatever  truth  there  may  be  in  these  splenetic  observations 
might  be  expected  to  show  itself  more  particularly  in  the  world  of 
politics:  people  dread  to  be  thought  unsafe  in  proportion  as  they  get 
their  living  by  being  thought  to  be  safe.  "Literary  men,"  it  has 
been  said,  "are  outcasts";  and  they  are  eminent  in  a  certain  way 
notwithstanding.  "They  can  say  strong  things  of  their  age;  for 
no  one  expects  they  will  go  out  and  act  on  them."  They  are  a 
kind  of  ticket-of-leave  lunatics,  from  whom  no  harm  is  for  the 
moment  expected ;  who  seem  quiet,  but  on  whose  vagaries  a  prac- 
tical public  must  have  its  eye.  For  statesmen  it  is  different:  they 
must  be  thought  men  of  judgment.  The  most  morbidlj^  agricul- 
tural counties  were  aggrieved  when  Mr.  Disraeli  was  made  Chan- 
cellor* of  the  Exchequer:  they  could  not  believe  he  was  a  man  of 
solidity,  and  they  could  not  comprehend  taxes  by  the  author  of 
"Coningsby"  or  sums  by  an  adherent  of  the  Caucasus.  "There 
is,"  said  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "a  certain  hypocrisy  of  action,  which, 
however  it  is  despised  by  persons  intrinsically  excellent,  will  never- 
theless be  cultivated  by  those  who  desire  the  good  repute  of  men." 
Politicians,  as  has  been  said,  live  in  the  repute  of  the  commonalty. 
They  may  appeal  to  posterity;  but  of  what  use  is  posterity? 
Years  before  that  tribunal  comes  into  life,  your  life  will  be  extinct; 
it  is  like  a  moth  going  into  chancery.  Those  who  desire  a  public 
career  must  look  to  the  views  of  the  living  public;  an  immediate 
exterior  influence  is  essential  to  the  exertion  of  their  faculties. 
The  confidence  of  others  is  your  fulcrum :  you  cannot  —  many 
people  wish  you  could  —  go  into  Parliament  to  represent  yourself; 
you  must  conform  to  the  opinions  of  the  electors,  and  they,  de- 
pend on  it,  will  not  be  original.  In  a  word,  as  has  been  most 
wisely  observed,  "  under  free  institutions  it  is  necessary  occasion- 
ally to  defer  to  the  opinions  of  other  people;  and  as  other  people 
are  obviously  in  the  wrong,  this  is  a  great  hindrance  to  the  improve- 
ment of  our  political  system  and  the  progress  of  our  species."  ^ 

•  W.ilter  Bagchot:    "  The  Character  of  Sir   Robert   Peel,"    Worka,  vol.  iii.    Travelers 
Insurance  Company,  Hartford,  Conn. 


230  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

1.  Apply  Bagehot's  criticism  of  the  effects  of  a  democratic  average 
to  the  fate  of  Socrates,  Jesus,  Columbus,  Galileo,  Roger  Wil- 
liams, Benjamin  Franklin,  Abraham  Lincoln.  Do  your  results 
justify  Bagehot's  statements? 

2.  If  Bagehot's  theory  is  true,  how  do  you  account  fof  any  ad- 
vance in  a  democracy,  for  woman  suffrage,  for  example,  or  the 
election  of  senators  by  popular  vote,  or  the  inaugurating  of  an 
income  tax? 

3.  Apply  his  remarks  about  literary  men  to  the  career  of  Thomas 
Carlyle,  Heine,  Galsworthy,  and  others  who  have  criticized 
their  times. 

4.  Does  the  Christian  religion  tend  to  make  a  man  act  on  his  own 
original  ideas? 

XVII.  Do  you  believe  the  following  statement  by  a  well-known  musical 
critic?  If  the  statement  is  true,  how  far  is  it  possible  to  extend  it, 
to  how  many  forms  of  art  or  business? 

While  the  lover  of  music  may  often  be  in  doubt  as  to  the  merit 
of  a  composition,  he  need  never  be  so  in  regard  to  that  of  a  per- 
formance. Here  we  stand  on  safe  and  sure  ground,  for  the  quali- 
ties that  make  excellence  in  performance  are  all  well  known,  and 
it  is  necessary  only  that  the  ear  shall  be  able  to  detect  them. 
There  may,  of  course,  be  some  difference  of  opinion  about  the 
reading  of  a  sonata  or  the  interpretation  of  a  symphony;  but  even 
these  differences  should  be  rare.  Differences  of  judgment  about 
the  technical  qualities  of  a  musical  performance  should  never  exist. 
Whether  a  person  plays  the  piano  or  sings  well  or  ill  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  opinion,  but  of  fact.  The  critic  who  is  acquainted  with 
the  technics  of  the  art  can  pronounce  judgment  upon  a  perform- 
ance with  absolute  certainty,  and  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world 
why  every  lover  of  music  should  not  do  the  same  thing.  There 
should  not  be  any  room  for  such  talk  as  this:  "  I  think  Mrs.  Blank 
sang  very  well,  did  n't  you?"     "Well,  I  did  n't  like  it  much." 

And  there  should  be  no  room  for  the  indiscriminate  applause 
of  bad  performances  which  so  of  ten  grieve  the  hearts  of  judicious 
listeners.  Bad  orchestral  playing,  bad  piano  playing,  bad  sing- 
ing are  applauded  every  day  in  the  course  of  the  musical  season 
by  people  who  think  they  have  a  right  to  an  opinion.  I  repeat 
that  it  is  not  a  matter  of  opinion  but  a  matter  of  fact;  and  a  per- 
son might  just  as  well  express  the  belief  that  a  short  fat  man  was 
finely  proportioned  as  to  say  that  an  ill-balanced  orchestra  was 
a  good  one,  and  he  might  as  well  say  that  in  his  opinion  a  fire- 
engine  whistle  was  music  as  to  say  that  a  throaty  voice-pro- 
duction was  good  singing.  1 

'  W.  H.  Henderson:  What  is  Good  Music  f   By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  New  York  City.   Copyright,  1898. 


CHAPTER  Vn 

THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY 

It  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  serious,  to  draw  one's  self  up  to  a 
formal  task  of  explaining  a  machine  or  analyzing  an  idea  or 
criticizing  a  novel;  and  it  is  just  as  fine,  and  often  more 
pleasurable,  to  banish  the  grim  seriousness  of  business  and 
take  on  pliancy,  smile  at  Life  —  even  though  there  be  tears 

—  and  chuckle  at  Care.  Life  is  more  than  mere  toil ;  there 
are  the  days  of  high  feast  and  carnival,  the  days  of  excursion, 
and  then  the  calm  quiet  days  of  peaceful  meditation,  some- 
times even  the  days  of  gray  sadness  shot  through  with  the 
crimson  thread  of  sacrifice  and  sorrow.  Often  in  the  least 
noisy  days  we  see  most  clearly,  with  most  balance,  and  with 
the  keenest  humor,  the  finest  courage.  Like  an  athlete  who 
cannot  be  forever  in  the  life  of  stem  rigor  but  must  stray  at 
times  into  the  ways  of  the  drawing-room  and  the  library,  so 
we  at  times  take  our  ways  into  the  realm  of  whim  and  spar- 
kle and  laughter,  of  brooding  contemplation,  of  warm  peace 
of  soul.  "I  want  a  little  breathing-space  to  muse  on  indif- 
ferent matters,"  says  Hazlitt,  and,  "Give  me  the  clear  blue 
sky  over  my  head,  and  the  green  turf  beneath  my  feet,  a 
winding  road  before  me,  and  a  three  hours'  march  to  dinner 

—  and  then  to  thinking ! "  In  such  moods  we  look  for  a  good 
friend  to  talk  with,  and  when  the  friend  is  not  at  hand 

—  why,  we  may  write  informal  essays  to  make  record  of 
our  thoughts  and  feelings.  For  the  Informal  Essay  is  the 
transcript  of  a  personal  reaction  to  some  phase  or  fact  of 
life,  personal  because  the  author  does  not  regard  life  with 
the  cold  eye  of  the  scientific  thinker,  and  because  he  does 
not,  on  the  other  hand,  insist,  as  does  the  reformer,  that 
others  than  himself  accept  the  views  he  sets  forth.     He  will 


232  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

not  force  his  belief  upon  others,  will  not  even  hold  it  too 
feverishly  himself,  but,  if  we  cannot  accept,  will  even  smile 
urbanely  —  though  he  may  think  we  are  quite  wrong  — 
and  bow,  and  go  his  own  way. 

The  greatest  charm  of  the  informal  essay  is  its  personal 
nature.  There  is  little,  if  indeed  anything,  personal  about 
the  analysis  of  problems  or  situations,  slight  revelation  of  the 
author  in  a  treatise  on  dietetics  or  party  politics  or  bridge 
building.  This  kind  of  writing  is  essentially  the  writing  of 
our  business.  "  But  what  need  of  ceremony  among  friends?  " 
Lamb  asks,  and  hits  the  heart  of  the  informal  essay.  We  are 
with  friends,  and  with  them,  if  the  mood  is  on  us,  we  chat 
about  the  delights  of  munching  apples  on  snappy  October 
mornings,  or  the  humor  of  the  scramble  for  public  ofBce,  or 
the  romance  of  spanning  a  stream  in  the  hills,  or,  at  times, 
the  mysteries  of  life  and  death.  And  then  the  chat  is  thor- 
oughly personal,  we  feel  no  grim  duty,  but  only  the  quiet 
pleasure  of  uttering  whatever  we  may  think  or  feel,  about 
things  in  which  we  find  our  personal  interests  aroused.  It  is 
as  the  counterpart  in  literature  of  such  talk  in  living  that  the 
informal  essay  reveals  the  personal  note,  is  really  the  lyric 
of  prose.  For  the  informal  essay  does  not  affirm,  "This 
must  be  done!"  or,  "I  will  defend  this  with  my  life!"  or, 
"This  is  undeniable  truth!"  Rather  it  says,  "This  is  how 
I  feel  about  things  to-day,"  and  if  the  essayist  be  aware  that 
he  has  not  always  felt  thus,  that  he  may  even  feel  differently 
again,  he  is  unabashed.  He  will  make  you  his  confidant, 
will  tell  you  what  he  thinks  and  how  he  feels,  will  banish  the 
cold  front  of  business,  and  will  not  be  secretive  and  nig- 
gardly of  himself,  but  only  duly  reticent. 

As  soon  as  we  turn  to  informal  essays  we  find  this  personal 
note.  Here  is  Cowley's  essay  "Of  Myself,"  frankly  telling 
of  his  life.  Our  eye  falls  upon  Hazlitt's  words,  "I  never  was 
ill  a  better  place  or  humor  than  I  am  at  present  for  writing 
on  this  subject.  I  have  a  partridge  getting  ready  for  my  sup- 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  233 

per,  my  fire  is  blazing  on  the  hearth,  the  air  is  mild  for  the 
season  of  the  year,  I  have  had  but  a  slight  fit  of  indigestion 
to-day  (the  only  thing  that  makes  me  abhor  myself),  I  have 
three  hours  good  before  me,  and  therefore  I  will  attempt  it." 
Such  intimacy,  such  personal  contact  is  to  be  found  only  in 
the  informal  essay.  Only  in  a  form  of  writing  that  we 
frankly  acknowledge  as  familiar  would  Samuel  Johnson 
write  "The  Scholar's  Complaint  of  His  Own  Bashfulness." 
And  once  in  the  writing,  the  author  cannot  keep  himself  oat. 
Steele,  not  Addison,  wrote  the  words,  "He  is  said  to  be  the 
first  that  made  Love  by  squeezing  the  Hand"  —  honest, 
jovial,  garrulous  Dick  Steele,  thinking,  perhaps,  of  his 
"  Darling  Prue." 

If,  then,  you  have  some  random  ideas  that  interest  you, 
if  the  memory  of  your  kite-flying  days  comes  strong  upon 
you,  or  of  your  early  ambitions  to  be  a  sailor  or  a  prima 
donna,  if  you  can  see  the  humor  of  rushing  for  trains  or  elud- 
ing taxes,  or  reciting  without  study,  if  you  feel  keenly  the 
joy  of  climbing  mountains,  or  canoeing,  or  gardening,  or 
fussing  with  engines,  or  making  things  with  hammer  and 
nails  or  flour  and  sugar,  if  you  see  the  beauty  in  powerful 
machinery  or  in  the  deep  woods  and  streams  and  flowers,  or 
the  patient  heroism  —  modest  heroism  —  of  the  men  in 
"Information"  booths  at  railway  stations,  if  you  find  pathos 
in  the  world,  or  humor,  or  any  personal  significance,  and  are 
able  to  understand  without  being  oppressed  with  seriousness 
or  poignant  reality,  even  of  himior,  —  if  you  remember  or 
see  or  feel  such  things,  and  wish  to  talk  quite  openly  about 
them  as  they  appeal  to  you,  write  an  informal  essay. 

Now  you  can  write  a  personal  essay  that  will  be  enjoyable 
only  if  your  personality  is  attractive.  And  you  cannot  draw 
a  reader  to  you  unless  you  have  a  keen  reaction  to  the  facts 
of  life.  Writing  informal  essays  is  impossible  for  the  man 
whose  life  is  neutral,  who  goes  unseeing,  unhearing  through 
the  world;  it  is  most  natural  to  the  man  who  touches  life  at 


234  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

many  points  and  touches  with  pleasure.  Those  magic  ini- 
tials, R.  L.  S.,  which  the  world,  especially  the  young  world, 
loves,  mean  to  us  a  personality  that  reveled  in  playing  with 
lead  soldiers,  in  hacking  a  way  through  the  tropical  forests 
of  Samoa,  in  pursuing  streams  to  their  sources,  in  cleaning 
"crystal,"  in  talking  with  all  living  men,  in  reading  all  living 
books,  in  whiling  the  hours  with  his  flageolet.  "  I  have,"  says 
Lamb,  "an  almost  feminine  partiality  for  old  china."  We 
think,  perhaps,  of  Bacon  as  a  cold  austere  figure,  until  we 
know  him,  but  is  he  cold  when,  writing  of  wild  thyme  and 
water  mints  he  says,  "Therefore  you  are  to  set  whole  alleys 
of  them,  to  have  the  pleasure  when  you  walk  or  tread"  of 
sniflSng  their  sweet  fragrance?  And  is  a  man  uninterested 
who  writes,  "I  grant  there  is  one  subject  on  which  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  talk  on  a  journey;  and  that  is  what  one  shall  have  for 
supper  when  we  get  to  our  inn  at  night".''  When  we  con- 
sider the  loves  of  that  bright  flower  of  English  young  man- 
hood, Rupert  Brooke,  we  can  the  more  keenly  feel  the  loss 
that  the  essay,  as  well  as  poetry,  had  in  his  untimely  death. 

These  have  I  loved: 

White  plates  and  cups,  clean-gleaming, 
Ringed  with  blue  lines;  and  feathery,  faery  dust; 
Wet  roofs,  beneath  the  lamplight;  the  strong  crust 
Of  friendly  bread;  and  many-tasting  food; 
Rainbows;  and  the  blue  bitter  smoke  of  wood; 
And  radiant  raradrops  couching  in  cool  flowers; 
And  flowers  themselves,  that  sway  through  sunny  hours. 
Dreaming  of  moths  that  drink  them  under  the  moon; 
Then,  the  cool  kindliness  of  sheets,  that  soon 
Smooth  away  trouble;  and  the  rough  male  kiss 
Of  blankets;  grainy  wood;  live  hair  that  is 
Shining  and  free;  blue-massing  clouds;  the  keen 
Unpassionod  beauty  of  a  great  machine; 
The  benison  of  hot  water;  furs  to  touch; 
The  good  smell  of  old  clothes;  and  other  such  — 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  235 

The  comfortable  smell  of  friendly  fingers. 
Hair's  fragrance,  and  the  musty  reek  that  lingers 
About  dead  leaves  and  last  year's  ferns.  .  .  . 

Dear  names. 
And  thousand  other  throng  to  me!     Royal  flames; 
Sweet  water's  dimpling  laugh  from  tap  or  spring; 
Holes  in  the  ground;  and  voices  that  do  sing; 
Voices  in  laughter,  too;  and  body's  pain. 
Soon  turned  to  peace;  and  the  deep-panting  train; 
Firm  sands;  the  little  dulling  edge  of  foam 
That  browns  and  dwindles  as  the  wave  goes  home; 
And  washen  stones,  gay  for  an  hour;  the  cold 
Graven  ess  of  iron;  moist  black  earthen  mould; 
Sleep;  and  high  places;  footprints  in  the  dew; 
And  oaks;  and  brown  horse-chestnuts,  glossy-new; 
And  new-peeled  sticks;  and  shining  pools  on  grass;  — 
All  these  have  been  my  loves. ^ 

Lamb's  young  Bo-bo  was  in  the  right  of  it,  the  right  frame 
of  mind,  when  he  cried,  "  O,  father,  the  pig,  the  pig,  do  come 
and  taste  how  nice  the  burnt  pig  eats!"  The  true  writer 
of  informal  essays  can  see  that  Card  Catalogues  are  humor- 
ous, that  The  Feel  of  Leather  Covered  Books  is  sufficiently 
interesting  to  deserve  treatment,  that  Shaving,  and  Going 
to  Bed  Last,  and  Wondering  if  the  Other  Man  Knows  More, 
and  Manners,  and  Politeness,  and  The  Effect  of  Office-hold- 
ing upon  Personality,  and  Intellectual  Deviltry,  and  The 
Humility  of  Sinners,  and  The  Arrogance  of  Saints,  and  The 
Joys  of  Calling  Names,  and  City  Chimney-pots,  and  The 
"  Woman's  Page,"  and  Keeping  Up,  and  The  Pleasures  of 
Having  a  Besetting  Sin,  and  The  Absurdities  of  Education, 
and  When  Shakespeare  Nods,  and  thousands  of  other  sub- 
jects are  all  waiting  to  have  their  essays.  Can  there  be  any 
possible  interest  in  a  carpet  layer.?  Mr.  Dallas  Lore  Sharp, 
as  we  have  seen,^  finds  it  quite  wonderful.    Is  he  not  to  be 

1  Tlnpert  Brooke:  Collecled  Poems.     By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  John  Lane  Company. 
'  See  Chapter  v. 


236  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

envied  that  his  reaction  was  too  keen  to  leave  the  tool  life- 
less? An  informal  essayist  would  even,  we  think,  find  taste 
in  the  white  of  an  egg.  And  without  this  delight  in  life  his 
essays  will  not  be  read,  for  they  will  not  present  a  pleasing 
personality,  and  the  life  of  the  essay  is  its  personal  note. 

A  personality  that  is  quite  alive  and  thoroughly  interested 
in  all  sorts  of  things  almost  necessarily  sees  the  concrete. 
Most  informal  essays  are  full  of  individual  instances,  of 
anecdotes  and  scraps  from  life.  The  author  of  "  The  Privi- 
leges of  Age"  in  the  AHantic  Monthly  does  not  vaguely  talk 
about  age  in  general.  She  begins,  "I  have  always  longed  for 
the  privileges  of  age  —  since  the  days  when  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  elderly  people  ate  all  the  hearts  out  of  the  water- 
melons," and  she  continues  with  tlie  misfortunes  of  being 
young,  "In  coaching,  our  place  was  always  between  the  two 
fattest!  O  Isabella  is  thin!  She  can  sit  there!"  In  sheer 
delight  at  the  memory  Hazlitt  writes,  "It  was  on  the  tenth 
of  April,  1798,  that  I  sat  down  to  a  volume  of  the  New 
Eloise,  at  tlie  inn  of  Llangollen,  over  a  bottle  of  sherry  and 
a  cold  chicken."  So  Addison,  when  he  will  tell  us  of  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley,  confides  to  us  his  habit  of  standing  up  in 
church  service,  even  in  prayer  time,  to  look  round  him  and 
see  if  all  his  tenants  are  there,  or  shows  him  calling  out  lust- 
ily to  John  Matthews,  "to  mind  what  he  was  about  and  not 
disturb  tlie  congregation"  when  John  was  kicking  his  heels 
for  diversion.  Concrete  again,  is  Sir  Roger's  remark  at  the 
theater,  "And  let  me  tell  you  .  .  .  though  he  speaks  but  lit- 
tle, I  like  the  old  Fellow  in  Whiskers  as  well  as  any  of  them." 
All  such  detailed  bits  of  life  the  essayist  relishes,  and  in  turn 
they  enrich  his  personality  and  make  him  able  to  give  the 
personal  note  that  is  the  heart  of  the  informal  essay. 

This  mood  of  human  interest  is  illustrated,  of  course,  by 
otlicr  writers  than  the  informal  essayists.  The  historian 
Parkman  filled  his  volumes  with  the  intimate  details  of  per- 
sonal experience  that  keep  them  warm  and  forever  alive. 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  237 

As  distinct  from  the  dry-as-dust  chroniclers,  who  eschew  all 
of  the  throbbing  incidents  of  life,  he  was  eager  to  include 
whenever  inclusion  would  help  the  reader's  true  imagination, 
such  details  as  that,  back  in  colonial  times,  the  thunderous 
praying  of  a  member  of  the  General  Court  of  Massachusetts, 
who  had  retired  to  his  room  for  Heavenly  counsel,  revealed 
the  secret  of  the  proposed  attack  upon  the  fortress  of  Louis- 
bourg  to  a  landlady  —  and  hence  to  all  the  world.  Nor  does 
he  fail  to  mention  that  when  the  Grand  Battery  at  Louis- 
bourg  was  captured,  William  Tufts,  of  Medford,  a  lad  of 
eighteen,  climbed  the  flagstaff  with  his  red  coat  in  his  teeth 
and  made  it  fast  to  the  pole  for  a  flag.  As  we  read  Park- 
man's  words,  we  can  feel  his  heart  glow  with  the  joy  of  the 
climbing  lad,  we  know  that  in  the  historian  there  was  beat- 
ing the  throb  of  human  love  such  as  would  have  made  him 
an  admirable  essayist  had  he  turned  his  hand  to  the  form. 

If,  then,  you  feel  like  confidential  writing,  what  may  your 
subjects  be?  Essayists  have  written  about  three  main 
classes  of  subjects:  first  always,  people,  their  glory,  their 
pathos,  their  sadness,  and  their  whims;  second,  nature  as  it 
appeals  to  the  writers  in  a  personal  way,  reflecting  tlieir  joys 
and  sorrows,  or  contributing  to  their  sense  of  pleasure, 
beauty,  and  companionship  in  the  world;  and  third,  mat- 
ters of  science,  industry,  art,  literature,  as  the  essayists  think 
these  affect  the  emotions  of  humanity.  If  you  are  in  won- 
derment and  desire  to  speak  of  the  bravery  of  men  fighting 
the  battle  of  life,  you  may  write  with  Stevenson  the  somber 
but  inspiring  "Pulvis  et  Umbra."  If  you  are  tempted  to 
smile  at  the  tendency  of  people  to  announce  beliefs  militantly, 
you  may  write  with  Mr.  Crothers  "On  Being  a  Doctri- 
naire." If  man's  ceaseless  quest  of  the  perfect  appeals,  you 
may  write  with  Mr.  Sharp  "The  Dustless  Duster."  The 
interesting  old  custom  of  having  an  awesome  "spare 
chamber,"  the  hurly-burly  and  humor  of  moving,  the  fas- 
cinating process  of  shaving  that  Grandfather  performs  on 


238  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

Sunday,  the  ways  in  which  some  people  make  themselves 
lovable,  others  hateful,  others  pitiful,  and  still  others  ridicu- 
lous —  these  are  your  rightful  field  if  you  but  care  to  use 
them.  The  informal  essayist  loves  humanity  not  blindly 
but  wisely.  "There  is  something  about  a  boy  that  I  like," 
Charles  Dudley  Warner  wrote,  and  thereby  proved  himself 
worthy  to  write  such  essays.  Lamb,  thinking  of  chimney- 
sweeps, cries  out,  "I  have  a  kindly  yearning  toward  these 
dim  specks  —  poor  blots  —  innocent  blacknesses."  Nor  is 
the  essayist  restricted  to  the  lives  of  others;  the  true  in- 
formal essayist  never  forgets  his  own  boyhood.  The  swim- 
ming and  fishing  larks,  the  tramp  for  the  early  chestnuts, 
the  machines  that  you  built  at  ten  years,  the  tricks  you 
played  on  friends  and  enemies,  human  and  four-footed  — 
these  await  your  essay.  Especially  your  growTi-up  self 
offers  a  fertile  meadowland  of  essays.  What  are  your  hob- 
bies —  and  have  you  any  follies?  If  j^ou  can  but  poke  fim 
at  yourself,  we  will  listen.  Finally,  if  you  have  an  interest- 
ing acquaintance,  a  rosy  corner  grocer,  or  a  maiden  aunt  of 
the  old  school,  or  a  benignant  grandfather,  or  a  quaint  laun- 
dress, or  "hired  man,"  or  anybody  who  is  worth  the  words 
—  and  who  is  not.?  —  and  who  really  interests  you,  you  may 
make  a  character  sketch.  Thus  Stevenson  in  "A  Scotch 
Gardener,"  Leigh  Hunt  in  "The  Old  Lady,"  "The  Old  Gen- 
tleman," "The  Maidservant,"  and  John  Brown  in  "Jeems 
the  Doorkeeper."  Remember  only  one  thing  —  you  must, 
for  some  reason,  see  attractiveness  in  the  character,  even  the 
paradoxical  attractiveness  of  repulsion.  Remember  that 
Hazlitt  wrote  an  essay  on  "  The  Pleasures  of  Hating." 

When  people  do  not  offer  subjects,  turn  to  nature,  as  Mr. 
Burroughs  and  Mr.  Sharp  and  John  Muir  have  turned  in  our 
day,  and  as  others  have  turned  at  times  ever  since  there  was 
an  essay.  Do  you  admire  the  cool  deep  woods,  the  songs  of 
the  thrushes,  the  clouds  that  roll  into  queer  shapes,  the  end- 
lessly talking  brooks,  the  bugs  that  strive  and  fight  and 


THE  INF0RM:\L  essay  239 

acliieve,  the  queer  hunted  hve  things  that  you  see  every- 
AvLere?  There  is  your  essay.  Mr.  Warner  wrote  a  deUght- 
fiil  series  about  gardening  in  which  he  makes  fun  —  partly 
of  himself,  partly  of  nature.  Richard  Jefferies  found  a  sub- 
VH'i  in  "July  Grass."  Mr.  Belloc  gives  the  spirit  of  the 
]>rimeval  currents  of  air  that  bore  the  ships  of  our  forefathers 
in  his  essay,  "On  a  Great  Wind."  California  sequoias,  red- 
e^ed  vireos,  the  pig  in  his  pen,  the  silly  hens  in  their  yard, 
friendly  dogs,  a  group  of  willows,  a  view  from  a  mountain- 
top,  trees  that  rush  past  as  you  skim  the  road  in  your  car, 
tliere  's  hardly  a  phase  of  nature  that  does  not  offer  an  essay, 
have  you  but  tlie  eyes  to  see  and  the  heart  to  warm.  One 
caution  must  be  given.  This  kind  of  essay  will  try  to  lure 
you  into  words  that  seem  poetic  but  really  lie;  beware  that 
you  tell  the  truth,  for  a  sunset,  glorious  though  it  is,  is  still 
a  sunset.  For  the  higher  imaginative  flights  we  reserv^e  our 
verse.  On  the  other  hand,  scientific  analysis  is  not  for  the 
essay;  it  is  too  impersonal.  Nature,  as  seen  in  the  informal 
essay,  is  the  nature  of  emotion  that  keeps  its  balance  through 
humor  and  sanity.  Do  not,  then,  write  an  essay  about  na- 
ture unless  you  are  sure  of  your  balance,  unless  you  are  sure 
that  you  can  tell  the  truth. 

But  the  essayist  does  not  stop  with  the  creations  in  na- 
ture; he  goes  on  to  the  works  of  man.  He  sees  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  a  deftly  guided  mathematical  problem,  the  answer 
marshaled  to  its  post  in  order,  he  feels  the  exultation  of  a 
majestic  pumping  station,  he  knows  the  wonder  of  the  in- 
spiration of  artists.  As  you  pass  the  steel  skeleton  of  the 
skyscraper,  or  see  the  liner  gliding  up  the  harbor,  or  thrill 
to  the  locomotive  that  paws  off  across  the  miles,  or  stand  in 
awe  and  watch  the  uncanny  linotype  machine  at  its  weird 
mysteries,  you  may  find  your  subject  all  ready  for  the  ex- 
pression. Mr.  Joseph  Husband  finds  the  romance  of  these.  ^ 
Books,  too,  chats  with  your  favorite  authors,  trips  through 

*  America  at  Work. 


240  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

art  galleries,  listening  to  concerts,  finding  the  wonders  of  the 
surgeon,  —  all  these,  as  they  appeal  to  you,  as  you  react  to 
them,  as  they  disclose  a  meaning,  are  fit  subjects  for  your 
essay.  Thus  Mr.  Crothers  writes  in  "The  Hundred  Worst 
Books." 

Men,  nature,  things,  all  are  at  your  beck  if  you  but  keenly 
feel  their  appeal,  if  you  have  an  honest  thought  about  them. 
As  you  treat  them  do  not  hesitate  to  use  the  word  "  I " ;  in  the 
essay  we  expect  the  word,  we  look  for  it,  we  miss  it  when  it 
eludes  us,  for  the  great  charm  of  the  informal  essay  is  its 
personal  note,  its  revelation  of  the  heart  of  the  writer. 

Since  the  essay  is  urbanely  personal,  it  does  not  take  itself 
too  seriously.  Our  definition  declared  that  the  essayist  will 
not  try  to  force  his  views  upon  his  reader  nor  hold  them  too 
feverishly  himself.  If  you  are  militant  about  a  subject,  you 
should  write,  not  an  informal  essay,  but  a  treatise  or  an  argu- 
ment in  which  full  play  will  be  given  to  your  cudgels.  If  you 
violently  believe  in  woman-suffrage  —  as  you  well  may  — 
so  that  you  can  be  only  dead-serious  about  it,  do  not  write 
an  informal  essay.  For  the  essay  aims  at  the  spirit  as  well 
as  the  intellect,  hopes  to  create  a  glow  in  the  reader  as  well  as 
to  convince  him  of  a  truth.  You  should  write  an  informal 
essay  when  you  are  in  the  mood  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
as  he  remarked,  "There  is  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides." 
This  does  not  mean  that  you  should  write  spinelessly  —  not 
in  the  least;  it  means  only  that  you  should  be  an  artist  rather 
than  a  blind  reformer.  Sometimes  the  mind  wishes  to  go 
upon  excursion,  to  give  play  to  the  "wanton  heed  and  giddy 
cunning"  that  are  in  the  heart.  The  essay,  says  Richard 
Middleton,  "should  have  the  apparent  aimlessness  of  life, 
and,  like  life,  its  secret  purpose."  It  may  be  mere  "exuber- 
ant capering  round  a  discovered  truth,"  to  borrow  Mr.  Ches- 
terton's phrase.  Again,  it  may  feel  the  length  of  the  shad- 
ows, the  cold  breath  of  the  mists  of  the  still,  unpierced 
places.    The  essay  does  not  deny  the  shadows;  it  rather  be- 


THE  INFORMAL  l^SSAY  241 

lieves  in  riding  up  to  the  guns  with  a  smile  and  the  gesture 
of  courtesy.  It  sees  the  truth  always,  but  it  also  prefers  not 
to  be  a  pest  in  declaring  the  truth  disagreeably.  "There- 
fore we  choose  to  dally  with  visions."  Many  an  informal 
essay  has  been  written  on  "Death,"  but  not  in  the  mood  of 
the  theologian.  The  essay  has  about  it  the  exquisite  flavor 
of  personality  such  as  we  find  in  the  cavalier  lads  who  rode 
to  feasting  or  to  death  with  equal  grace  and  charm.  The 
real  essay  ought  not  to  leave  its  reader  uncomfortable;  it 
leaves  to  the  militant  writers  to  work  such  mischief. 

Do  not,  therefore,  ever  allow  your  essay  to  become  a  ser- 
mon, for  to  the  sermon  there  is  only  one  side.  And  do  not 
try  to  wrench  a  moral  from  everything.  If  you  do,  the 
moral  will  be  anaemic  and  tliin.  Do  not,  after  watching 
brooks,  be  seized  with  a  desire  to  have  your  reader  "content 
as  they  are."  Nor,  after  the  locomotive  has  melted  into  the 
distance  shall  you  buttonhole  your  reader  and  bid  him,  like 
the  engine,  be  up  and  doing!  Better  is  it  to  play  pranks 
with  respectability  and  logic.  Stevenson's  ability  to  write 
charming  essays  came  partly  from  tlie  fact  that,  as  Barrie 
has  said  of  him,  "He  was  the  spirit  of  boyhood  tugging  at 
the  skirts  of  this  old  world  of  ours  and  compelling  it  to  come 
back  and  play."  Mr.  Chesterton  often  inspires  us  to  do 
some  really  new  thinking  by  his  ridiculous  contentions. 
Where  but  in  the  essay  could  a  man  uphold  the  belief  that 
Faith  is  Nonsense  and  perhaps  Nonsense  is  Faith? 

In  fact,  humor  is  always  present  in  the  informal  essay. 
It  may  be  grave  or  even  sad,  it  is  never  really  boisterous,  it  is 
best  subtle  and  quiet,  but  of  whatever  kind  it  should  be  pres- 
ent. Meredith  said  "humor  is  the  ability  to  detect  ridicule 
of  those  we  love  without  loving  them  the  less."  Note,  in  the 
light  of  these  words,  John  Brown's  description  of  his  friend 
Jeems:  "Jeems's  face  was  so  extensive,  and  met  you  so  for- 
midably and  at  once,  that  it  mainly  composed  his  whole; 
and  such  a  face!     Sydney  Smith  used  to  say  of  a  certain 


242  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

quarrelsome  man,  'His  very  face  is  a  breach  of  the  peace.' 
Had  he  seen  our  friend's  he  would  have  said  that  he  was  the 
imperative  mood  on  two  (very  small)  legs,  out  on  business 
in  a  blue  greatcoat."  Lamb  had  the  gentle  humor  in  exqui- 
site degree,  kindly  and  shrewd.  When  the  little  chimney- 
sweep laughed  at  him  for  falling  in  the  street  Lamb  thought, 
"there  he  stood  . . .  with  such  a  maximum  of  glee  and  mini- 
mum of  mischief,  in  his  mirth  —  for  the  grin  of  a  genuine 
sweep  hath  absolutely  no  malice  in  it  —  that  I  could  have 
been  content,  if  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  might  endure  it, 
to  have  remained  his  butt  and  mockery  till  midnight."  The 
humor  is  often  ironic,  frequently  diy  and  lurking,  but  kindly 
still,  for  the  essayist  loves  his  fellow  man. 

Since  the  essay  is  not  super-serious,  it  need  not  be  too  con- 
scientiously thorough  and  exhaustive.  It  must,  to  be  sure, 
have  some  point,  some  core  of  thought,  must  meditate,  but 
it  need  not  reach  a  final  conclusion.  It  often  believes,  with 
Stevenson,  that  "to  travel  hopefully  is  better  than  to  ar- 
rive," and  it  spends  its  time  on  the  pleasant  way.  It  takes 
conclusions  about  as  seriously  as  we  take  tliem  when  we  sit 
with  pipe  and  slippers  by  the  fireside  and  chat.  Its  view  of 
the  subject  is  limited  also.  It  is  not  a  piece  of  research,  it 
need  not  cover  the  whole  ground  with  all  the  minutiae.  The 
essayist,  first  of  all,  will  admit  that  he  does  not  say  all  that 
might  be  said.  Very  likely  he  will  declare  that  he  is 
merely  making  suggestions  rather  than  giving  a  treatment. 
Think  how  endless  a  real  treatise  on  old  china  would  be, 
and  then  how  brief  and  sketchy  Lamb's  essay  is.  The 
beauty  of  writing  an  informal  essay  is  that  you  can  stop 
when  you  please,  you  do  not  feel  the  dread  command  of  the 
subject. 

Just  as  the  conclusion  may  be  dodged,  so  the  strict  laws 
of  rhetoric  may  be  winked  at.  De  Quincey  remarks,  "Here 
I  pause  for  a  moment  to  exhort  the  reader  . .  .  etc.,"  and  for 
a  whole  page  talks  about  a  different  subject!    But  we  do  not 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  243 

mind,  for,  as  has  been  said  of  him  —  and  the  remark  is 
equally  true  of  many  essayists  —  he  is  hke  a  good  sheep  dog, 
he  makes  many  detours,  may  even  disappear  behind  a  knoll, 
but  finally  he  will  come  eagerly  and  bravely  back  with  his 
flock  and  guide  the  sheep  home.  Digressions  are  allowable, 
so  long  as  safe  return  is  made.  The  formlessness  of  the 
essay  is  to  be  held  by  an  invisible  web  that  is  none  the  less 
binding,  like  the  bonds  of  the  Fenris  wolf.  We  may  go 
round  the  subject  or  stand  off  and  gaze  at  it,  may  introduce 
anecdotes,  bits  of  conversation,  illustrations  of  various  sorts, 
may  even  cast  the  essay  largely  in  narrative  form,  so  long  as 
at  the  heart  of  it  there  is  our  idea.  "You  may  tack  and  drift, 
only  so  you  tack  and  drift  round  the  buoy."  Hazlitt,  in  "On 
Persons  One  Would  Wish  to  Have  Seen,"  uses  much  con- 
versation. Thackeray,  in  "Tunbridge  Toys,"  clings  to  the 
narrative  medium. 

Mr.  Richard  Burton,  in  the  foreword  to  his  Little  Essays 
in  Literature  and  Life,  sums  up  the  informal  essay  thus: 

The  way  of  the  familiar  essay  is  one,  of  the  formal  essay  another. 
The  latter  is  informational,  it  defines,  proves;  the  former,  seeking 
for  friendlier  and  more  personal  relations  with  the  reader,  aims  at 
suggestion,  stimulation.  The  familiar  essay  can  be  an  impression- 
istic reflection  of  the  author's  experience  in  the  mighty  issues  of 
living,  or  it  may  be  the  frank  expression  of  a  mere  whim.  It  should 
touch  many  a  deep  thing  in  a  way  to  quicken  the  sense  of  the  charm, 
wonder,  and  terror  of  the  earth.  The  essayist  can  fly  high,  if  he  but 
have  wings,  and  he  can  dive  deeper  than  any  plummet  line  of  the 
intellect,  should  it  happen  that  the  spirit  move  him. 

It  is  thus  the  ambition  of  the  familiar  essayist  to  speak  wisdom 
albeit  debonairly,  to  be  thought-provoking  without  heaviness,  and 
helpful  without  didacticism.  Keenly  does  he  feel  the  lachrjTnse 
rerum,but,  sensible  to  the  laughing  incongruities  of  human  expres- 
sion, he  has  a  safeguard  against  the  merely  solemn  and  can  smile  at 
himself  or  others,  preserving  his  sense  of  humor  as  a  precious  gift 
of  the  high  gods.    And  most  of  all,  he  loves  his  fellow  men,  and 


244  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

would  come  into  fellowship  with  them  through  thought  that  is 
made  mellow  by  feeling.  .  .  .^ 

And  so  we  return  to  our  definition:  the  essay  is  the  tran- 
script of  personal  reaction  to  some  phase  or  fact  of  life,  not 
weighted  with  an  over-solemn  feeling  of  responsibility, 
charged  with  never-failing  balance  and  humor  and  liberty 
to  wander  without  necessarily  arriving,  frankly  individual 
in  its  treatment  of  life,  life  as  it  seems  to  the  writer,  whether 
the  essay  be  about  people  or  things  or  nature. 

Of  the  length  of  the  essay  we  may  not  be  too  definite.  It 
may  be  only  a  page  in  duration;  it  may  cover  fifty.  When  the 
writer  has  said  what  he  wishes  to  say,  he  blithely  ceases,  and 
leaves  the  work  to  the  reader.  In  style  all  the  graces,  all  the 
lightness,  the  daintiness,  the  neatness  that  he  can  command 
the  author  uses.  He  loves  words  for  their  sound,  their  sug- 
gestiveness,  their  color.  And  since  he  is  frequently  express- 
ing a  mood,  he  will,  so  far  as  he  can,  adapt  the  style  to  the 
mood.  So  Lamb,  in  tlie  exquisite  reverie,  "Dream  Chil- 
dren," casts  his  vision  into  the  dreamy  cadence  that  lures 
us  into  his  very  mood.  So,  finally,  Mr.  Belloc,  describing 
the  wind,  says: 

When  a  great  wind  comes  roaring  over  the  eastern  flats  toward  the 
North  Sea,  driving  over  the  Fens  and  the  Wingland,  it  is  like  some- 
thing of  this  island  that  must  go  out  and  wrestle  with  the  water,  or 
play  with  it  in  a  game  or  battle;  and  when,  upon  the  western  shores, 
the  clouds  come  bowling  up  from  the  horizon,  messengers,  out- 
riders, or  comrades  of  the  gale,  it  is  something  of  the  sea  deter- 
mined to  possess  the  land.  The  rising  and  falling  of  such  power, 
its  hesitations,  its  renewed  violence,  its  fatigue  and  final  repose  — 
all  these  are  symbols  of  a  mind;  but  more  than  all  the  rest,  its  exul- 
tation !  It  is  the  shouting  and  hurrahing  of  the  wind  that  suits  a 
man.2 

*  Richard  Burton:  Little  Essays  in  Literature  and  Life.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  The 
Century  Company,  New  York  City. 

2  Hilaire  Belloc;  "On  a  Great  Wind."  From  First  and  Last.  By  courtesy  of  the  pub- 
lishers, E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.,  New  York. 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  245 

THE  PRIVILEGES  OF  AGE  i 

I  have  always  longed  for  the  privileges  of  age,  —  since  the  days 
when  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  elderly  people  ate  all  the  hearts  out 
of  the  watermelons.  Now  it  suddenly  occurs  to  me  that  I  am  at 
last  entitled  to  claim  them.  Surely  the  shadow  on  the  dial  has 
moved  around  it,  the  good  time  has  come,  and  the  accumulated 
interest  of  my  years  shall  be  mine  to  spend.  Have  you  not  had  the 
same  experience?  For  many  years,  as  you  may  have  noticed,  the 
majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  were  old.  Even  those  per- 
sons over  whom  we  were  nominally  supposed  to  exercise  a  little 
brief  authority  were  older  than  we,  and  we  approached  the  dragons 
of  our  kitchen  with  a  deprecatmg  eye.  But  now  the  majority  has 
moved  behind  us;  most  people,  even  some  really  quite  distinguished 
people,  are  younger  than  we.  No  longer  can  we  pretend  that  our 
lack  of  distinction  is  due  to  immaturity.  No  longer  can  we  pri- 
vately assure  ourselves  that  some  day  we,  too,  shall  do  something, 
and  that  it  is  only  the  becoming  modesty  of  youth  which  prevents 
our  doing  it  at  once. 

One  thing,  willy-nilly,  we  have  done,  —  or  rather  nature  has 
done  it  for  us.  She  is  like  von  Moltke.  "Without  haste,  without 
rest,"  is  her  motto,  and  knowing  our  tendency  to  dally,  she  quietly 
takes  matters  into  her  own  hands.  Suddenly,  unconscious  of  the 
effort,  we  awake  one  morning  and  find  ourselves  old.  If  we  can 
only  succeed  in  being  old  enough,  we  shall  also  be  famous,  like  old 
Parr,  who  never  did  anything,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  but  live  to  the 
age  of  one  hundred  and  forty-five. 

In  order  properly  to  appreciate  our  present  privileges,  let  us  con- 
sider the  days  of  old  and  the  years  that  are  past.  It  was  in  the  time 
before  motors,  and  we  rode  backwards  in  the  carriage.  We  did  not 
like  to  ride  backwards.  In  traveling,  we  were  always  allotted  the 
upper  berths.  There  was  no  question  about  it.  We  could  n't 
expect  our  venerable  aunt,  or  our  delicate  cousin,  or  our  dignified 
grandmother  to  swing  up  into  an  upper  berth,  could  we?  And  in 
those  days  they  cost  just  as  much  as  lower  ones  and  we  paid  our 
own  traveling  expenses.  How  expert  we  grew  at  swinging  up  and 
swinging  down!     Naturally  the  best  rooms  at  the  hotels  went  to 

»  From  The  Contributors'  Club.    By  courtesy  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly  Company. 


246  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

the  elder  members  of  the  party.    In  coachmg,  our  place  was  always 
between  the  two  fattest!     "O  Isabella  is  thm!  she  can  sit  there!" 

And  what  did  we  ask  in  return  for  these  many  unnoticed  renun- 
ciations? Only  the  privilege  of  getting  up  at  five  to  go  trout-fishing, 
or  the  delight  of  riding  all  morning  cross-saddle  to  eat  a  crumby 
luncheon  in  a  buggy  forest  at  noon.  We  wondered  what  the  others 
meant  when  they  said  that  the  beds  were  not  comfortable,  and  we 
marveled  why  the  whole  machmery  of  heaven  and  earth  should  be 
out  of  gear  unless,  at  certain  occult  and  punctually  recurring  hours, 
they  had  a  cup  of  tea.  And  why  was  it  necessary  to  make  us  un- 
happy if  they  did  n't  have  a  cup  of  tea? 

Young  people  are  supposed  to  be  mannerly,  at  least  they  were  in 
my  day,  but  old  people  may  be  as  rude  as  they  please,  and  no  one 
reproves  them.  If  they  do  not  like  a  thing,  they  promptly  an- 
nounce the  fact.  The  privilege  of  self-expression  they  share  with 
the  very  young.  Wliich  reminds  me,  I  detest  puddings.  Hence- 
forth I  shall  decline  to  eat  them,  even  in  the  house  of  my  friends. 
Mine  is  the  prerogative  no  longer  to  dissemble,  for  hypocrisy  is 
abhorrent  to  the  members  of  the  favored  class  to  which  I  now  be- 
long. They  are  like  a  dear  and  honored  servitor  of  mine  who  used, 
on  occasion,  to  go  about  her  duties  with  the  countenance  of  a  thun- 
derstorm. "Elizabeth,"  said  I,  once,  reprovingly,  "you  should  not 
look  so  cross."  "But  Miss  Isabella,"  she  remarked  with  reason, 
"  if  you  don't  look  cross  when  you  are  cross,  how  is  any  one  to  know 
you  are  cross?" 

Speaking  of  thunderstorms,  I  am  afraid  of  them.  I  have  always 
been  afraid  since  the  days  when  I  used  to  hide  under  the  nursery 
table  when  I  felt  one  coming.  But  was  I  allowed  to  stay  under  the 
table?  Certainly  not.  All  these  years  have  I  maintained  a  right- 
eous and  excruciating  self-control.  But  old  ladies  are  afraid  and 
unashamed.  I  have  heard  of  one  who  used  to  get  into  the  middle 
of  a  featherbed.  I  shall  not  insist  on  the  featherbed,  but  I  shall 
close  the  shutters  and  turn  on  the  lights  and  be  as  cowardly  as 
I  please. 

The  two  ends  of  life,  infancy  and  age,  are  indulged  in  their  little 
fancies.  For  a  baby,  we  get  up  in  the  night  to  heat  bottles,  and 
there  are  certain  elderly  clergymen  whose  womenkind  always  arise 
at  four  in  the  morning  to  make  coffee  for  them.     That  is  not  being 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  247 

addicted  to  stimulants.  But  the  middle  span  of  life  is  like  a  canti- 
lever bridge :  if  it  can  bear  its  own  weight  it  is  expected  to  bear  any- 
thing that  can  possibly  be  put  upon  it.  "Old  age  deferred"  has  no 
attractions  for  me.  I  decline  to  be  middle-aged.  I  much  prefer 
to  be  old. 

Youth  is  haunted  by  misgivings,  by  hesitancies,  by  a  persistent 
idea  that,  if  only  we  dislike  a  thmg  enough,  there  must  be  some 
merit  in  our  disliking  it.  Not  so  untrammeled  age.  From  now  on, 
I  practice  the  philosophy  of  Montesquieu  and  pursue  the  general 
good  by  doing  that  which  I  like  best.  Absolutely  and  unequiv- 
ocally, that  which  I  like  best.  For  there  is  no  longer  any  doubt 
about  it:  I  have  arrived.  I  do  not  have  to  announce  the  fact. 
Others  realize  it.  My  friends'  daughters  give  me  the  most  comfort- 
able chair.  They  surround  me  with  charming,  thoughtful,  deli- 
cate little  attentions.  Mine  is  the  best  seat  in  the  motor,  mine  the 
host's  arm  at  the  feast,  mine  the  casting  vote  in  any  little  discus- 
sion. 

O  rare  Old  Age!  Howhast  thou  been  maligned!  O  blessed  land 
of  privilege!  True  paradise  for  the  disciples  of  Nietzsche,  where  at 
last  we  dare  appear  as  selfish  as  we  are! 

A  BREATH  OF  APRIL  ^ 

These  still,  hazy,  brooding  mid-April  mornings,  when  the  farmer 
first  starts  afield  with  his  plow,  when  his  boys  gather  the  buckets 
in  the  sugar-bush,  when  the  high-hole  calls  long  and  loud  through 
the  hazy  distance,  when  the  meadow-lark  sends  up  her  clear,  silvery 
shaft  of  sound  from  the  meadow,  when  the  bush  sparrow  trills  in 
the  orchard,  when  the  soft  maples  look  red  against  the  wood,  or 
their  fallen  bloom  flecks  the  drying  mud  in  the  road,  —  such  morn- 
ings are  about  the  most  exciting  and  suggestive  of  the  whole  year. 
How  good  the  fields  look,  how  good  the  freshly  turned  earth  looks ! 
—  one  could  almost  eat  it  as  does  the  horse;  —  the  stable  manure 
just  being  drawn  out  and  scattered  looks  good  and  smells  good; 
every  farmer's  house  and  barn  looks  inviting;  the  children  on  the 
way  to  school  with  their  dinner-pails  in  their  hands  —  how  they 
open  a  door  into  the  past  for  you !    Sometimes  they  have  sprays  of 

•  John  Burroughs:  LeaJ  and  Tendril.   Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Boston,  publishers. 


248  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

arbutus  in  their  button-holes,  or  bunches  of  hepatica.  The  par- 
tridge is  drumming  in  the  woods,  and  the  woodpeckers  are  drum- 
ming on  dry  hmbs. 

The  day  is  veiled,  but  we  catch  such  gHmpses  through  the  veil. 
The  bees  are  getting  pollen  from  the  pussy-willows  and  soft  ma- 
ples, and  the  first  honey  from  the  arbutus. 

It  is  at  this  time  that  the  fruit  and  seed  catalogues  are  interest- 
ing reading,  and  that  the  cuts  of  farm  implements  have  a  new  fas- 
cination. The  soil  calls  to  one.  All  over  the  country,  people  are 
responding  to  the  call,  and  are  buying  farms  and  moving  upon 
them.  My  father  and  mother  moved  upon  their  farm  in  the 
spring  of  1828;  I  moved  here  upon  mine  in  March,  1874. 

I  see  the  farmers,  now  going  along  their  stone  fences  and  replac- 
ing the  stones  that  the  frost  or  the  sheep  and  cattle  have  thrown  off, 
and  here  and  there  laying  up  a  bit  of  wall  that  has  tumbled  down. 

There  is  a  lare  music  now  in  the  unmusical  call  of  the  phoebe-bird 
—  it  is  so  suggestive. 

The  drying  road  appeals  to  one  as  it  never  does  at  any  other  sea- 
son. When  I  was  a  farm -boy,  it  was  about  this  time  that  I  used 
to  get  out  of  my  boots  for  half  an  hour  and  let  my  bare  feet  feel  the 
ground  beneath  them  once  more.  There  was  a  smooth,  dry,  level 
place  in  the  road  near  home,  and  along  this  I  used  to  run,  and  exult 
in  that  sense  of  light-footedness  which  is  so  keen  at  such  times. 
What  a  feeling  of  freedom,  of  emancipation,  and  of  joy  in  the  re- 
turning spring  I  used  to  experience  in  those  warm  April  twilights! 

I  think  every  man  whose  youth  was  spent  on  the  farm,  whatever 
his  life  since,  must  have  moments  at  this  season  when  he  longs  to 
go  back  to  the  soil.  How  its  sounds,  its  odors,  its  occupations,  its 
associations,  come  back  to  him!  Would  he  not  like  to  return  again 
to  help  rake  up  the  litter  of  straw  and  stalks  about  the  barn,  or 
about  the  stack  on  the  hUl  where  the  grass  is  starting?  Would  he 
not  like  to  help  pick  the  stone  from  the  meadow,  or  mend  the  brush 
fence  on  the  mountain  where  the  sheep  roam,  or  hunt  up  old  Brin- 
dle's  calf  in  the  woods,  or  gather  oven-wood  for  his  mother  to  start 
again  the  big  brick  oven  with  its  dozen  loaves  of  rye  bread,  or  see 
the  plow  crowding  the  lingering  snowbanks  on  the  side-hill,  or  help 
his  father  break  and  swingle  and  hatchel  the  flax  in  the  barnyard? 

When  I  see  a  farm  advertised  for  rent  or  for  sale  in  the  spring. 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  249 

I  want  to  go  at  once  and  look  it  over.  All  the  particulars  interest 
me,  —  so  many  acres  of  meadow-land,  so  many  of  woodland,  so 
many  of  pasture  —  the  garden,  the  orchard,  the  outbuildings,  the 
springs,  the  creek  —  I  see  them  all,  and  am  already  half  in  pos- 
session. 

Even  Thoreau  felt  this  attraction,  and  recorded  in  his  Journal : 
"I  know  of  no  more  pleasing  employment  than  to  ride  about  the 
country  with  a  companion  very  early  in  the  spring,  looking  at 
farms  with  a  view  to  purchasing,  if  not  paying  for  them." 

Blessed  is  the  man  who  loves  the  soil! 


THE  AMATEUR  CHESSMAN  ^ 

I  used  to  envy  chess-players.  Now  I  play.  My  method  of 
learning  the  game  was  unprincipled.  I  learned  the  moves  from 
the  encyclopaedia,  the  traditions  from  "Morphy,  On  Chess,"  and 
the  practice  from  playing  with  another  novice  as  audacious  as  I. 
Later,  finding  some  people  who  could  really  play,  I  clove  to  them 
until  they  taught  me  all  that  I  could  grasp.  My  ultimate  ambition 
is,  I  suppose,  the  masterly  playing  of  the  game.  Its  austere  an- 
tiquity rebukes  the  mUdest  amateur  into  admiration.  I  therefore 
strive,  and  wistfully  aspire.  Meanwhile,  however,  I  am  enjoying 
the  gay  excitement  of  the  unskilled  player. 

There  is  nobody  like  the  hardy  apprentice  for  getting  pleasure 
out  of  chess.  We  find  certain  delights  which  no  past-master  can 
know;  pleasures  exclusively  for  the  novice.  Give  me  an  opponent 
not  too  haughty  for  my  unworthy  steel,  one  who  may  perhaps  for- 
get to  capture  an  exposed  bishop  of  mine,  an  opponent  who,  like 
me,  will  know  the  early  poetry  of  mad  adventure  and  the  quiet 
fatalism  of  unexpected  defeat.  With  this  opponent  I  will  engage 
to  enjoy  three  things  which,  to  Mr.  Morphy,  immortality  itself 
shall  not  restore  —  three  things:  a  fresh  delight  in  the  whimsical 
personality  of  the  various  chessmen ;  the  recklessness  of  imcertamty 
and  of  unforeseen  adventure;  the  unprecedented  thrill  of  check- 
mating my  opponent  by  accident. 

JNIr.  Morphy,  I  admit,  may  perhaps  have  retained  through  life  a 
personal  appreciation  of  the  characters  of  the  pieces :  the  conserva- 

*  By  Frances  Lester  Warner,  from  "The  Point  of  View"  in  Scribner's  Magazine. 


250  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

tive  habits  of  the  king;  the  politic,  sidelong  bishop;  the  stout  little 
roundhead  pawns.  But  since  his  forgotten  apprenticeship  he  has 
not  known  their  many-sided  natures.  To  Mr.  Morphy  they  long 
since  became  subject  —  invariably  calculable.  With  a  novice,  the 
men  and  women  of  the  chess-board  regain  their  individuality  and 
their  Old  World  caprices,  their  mediaeval  greatness  of  heart.  Like 
Aragon  and  the  Plantagenets,  they  have  magnificent  leisure  for  the 
purposeless  and  aimless  quest.  The  stiff,  kind,  circular  eyes  of  my 
simple  boxwood  knight  stare  casually  about  him  as  he  goes.  Irre- 
sponsibly he  twists  among  his  enemies,  now  drawing  rein  in  the 
cross-country  path  of  an  angry  bishop,  now  blowing  his  horn  at  the 
very  drawbridge  of  the  king.  And  it  is  no  cheap  impunity  that  he 
faces  in  his  errant  hardihood.  My  opponent  seldom  lapses.  My 
knights  often  die  in  harness,  all  unshriven.  That  risk  lends  unfail- 
ing zest.     Most  of  all,  I  love  my  gentle  horsemen. 

My  opponent,  too,  has  her  loyalties,  quixotic  and  unshaken. 
Blindly,  one  evening,  I  imperiled  my  queen.  Only  the  opposing 
bishop  needed  to  be  sacrificed  to  capture  her.  The  spectators 
were  breathless  at  her  certain  fate.  But  my  opponent  sets  high 
value  upon  her  stately  bishop.  Rather  this  man  saved  for  defense 
than  risked  for  such  a  captive,  feminist  though  she  be,  and  queen. 
With  ecclesiastical  dignity  the  bishop  withdrew,  and  my  queen 
went  on  her  tranquil  way. 

Of  all  the  men,  the  king  reveals  himself  least  readily.  A  non- 
committal monarch  at  best.  At  times  imperial  and  menacing,  my 
king  may  conquer,  with  goodly  backing  from  his  yeomen  and  his 
chivalry.  Sometimes,  again,  like  Lear,  he  is  no  longer  terrible  in 
arms,  his  royal  guard  cut  down.  And  at  his  death  he  loves  always 
to  send  urgently  for  his  bishop,  who  is  solacing,  though  powerless 
to  save. 

All  this  is  typical  of  our  second  pleasure,  the  exhilaration  of  in- 
cautious and  unpremeditated  moves.  Inex-plicable,  for  example, 
this  pious  return  of  the  outbound  bishop  at  the  last  battle-cry  of 
the  king.  At  times,  however,  a  move  may  well  be  wasted  to  the 
end  that  all  may  happen  decently  and  in  order.  My  opponent 
shares  with  me  this  respect  for  ceremony.  Together  we  lament 
the  ruins  when  a  lordly  castle  falls.  Our  atrocities  are  never 
heartless;  we  never  recriminate. 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  251 

My  opening  moves,  in  general,  are  characterized  by  no  mean 
regard  for  consequences.  Let  my  men  rush  forth  to  the  edge  of  the 
hostile  country.  Once  there,  there  will  be  time  enough  to  peer 
about  and  reconnoitre  and  see  what  we  shall  see.  Meanwhile,  the 
enemy  is  battering  gloriously  at  my  postern-gate,  but  at  least  the 
fight  is  on!  Part  of  our  recklessness  in  these  opening  moves  con- 
sists in  our  confidential  revelations  to  each  other  of  all  our  plans 
and  disquieting  problems. 

"This  need  n't  worry  you  at  present,"  I  remark,  planting  my 
castle  on  an  irrational  crag.     "I'm  only  putting  it  there  in  case." 

That  saves  much  time.  My  opponent  might  otherwise  have 
found  it  necessary  to  waste  long  minutes  in  trying  to  fathom  the 
unknowable  of  my  scheme.  Without  this  companionable  inter- 
change chess  is  the  most  lonely  of  human  experiences.  There  you 
sit,  a  being  solitary  and  unsignaled  —  a  point  of  thought,  a  mere 
center  of  calculation.  You  have  no  partner.  All  the  world  is  can- 
celed for  the  time,  except,  perched  opposite  you,  another  hermit 
intellect  implacably  estranged  and  sinister.  Oh,  no!  As  yet  we 
discuss  our  plots. 

Poor  journeymen  players  of  the  royal  game!  Strange  clues  to 
character  appear  around  the  friendly  chess-board.  There  is  the 
supposedly  neutral  observer  of  the  game,  who  must  murmur  warn- 
ings or  lament  the  ill-judged  moves;  without  him,  how  would  life 
and  chess  be  simplified?  There  is  the  stout-hearted  player  who 
refuses  to  resign  though  his  defeat  is  demonstrably  certain,  but 
continues  to  jog  about  the  board,  eluding  actual  capture;  in  life 
would  he  resign?  There  is  the  player  who  gives  little  shrieks  at 
unexpected  attacks;  the  player  who  explains  his  mistakes  and  what 
he  had  intended  to  do  instead;  the  player  who  makes  no  sign 
whether  of  gloating  or  of  despair.  Most  striking  of  all  is  the  be- 
havior of  all  these  when  they  face  the  necessity  of  playing  against 
the  handicap  of  past  mistakes;  a  wrong  move  may  never  be  re- 
tracted by  the  thoroughbred.  No  apology,  no  retracting  of  the 
path;  we  must  go  on  as  if  the  consequences  were  part  of  our  plan. 
It  lures  to  allegory,  this  checkered  board,  these  jousts  and  far 
crusades. 

Then,  on  to  checkmate,  the  most  perfect  type  of  utter  finality, 
clear-cut  and  absolute.     Shah-mat!     Checkmate!     The  king  is 


252  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

dead.  In  most  conclusions  there  is  something  left  ragged;  some- 
thing still  in  abeyance,  in  reserve.  Here,  however,  is  no  shading, 
no  balancing  of  the  scales.  We  win,  not  by  majority,  as  in  cards; 
success  or  failure  is  unanimous.  There  was  one  ballot,  and  that 
is  cast.  No  matter  how  ragged  the  playing  that  went  before,  the 
end  of  a  game  of  chess  is  always  perfect.  It  satisfies  the  spirit. 
Always  at  last  comes  contentment  of  soul,  though  it  be  our  king 
that  dies. 

The  following  subjects  are  suggested  as  suitable  for  treatment  in  informal 
essays.  They  can,  in  many  cases,  be  changed  to  suit  individual  experience, 
can  be  made  either  broader  or  more  restricted.  Perhaps  they  will  suggest 
other  somewhat  similar  but  more  usable  subjects. 

PEOPLE 

'   1.  The  Pleasures  of  Sel6shness. 

2.  Wondering  if  the  Other  Person  Knows  More. 

3.  Pipe  and  Slippers  and  Dreams. 

4.  Middle-aged  Kittens. 

5.  Being  "Tough." 

6.  Early  Rising. 

7.  Scientific  Eating. 

8.  The  Joys  of  the  Straphanger. 

-  9.  Vicarious  Possessions  in  Shop  Windows. 
10.  Shopping  with  the  Bargain  Hunter. 

-  11.  New  Year's  Resolutions. 

12.  The  Gossip  of  the  Waiting-Room 

(of  a  Railroad  Station,  Doctor's  Office,  etc.). 

13.  The  Stimulation  of  Closet  Skeletons. 

14.  Planning  Houses. 

15.  Keeping  an  Expense  Book. 

16.  The  Millinery  of  the  Choir. 

17.  The  Joys  of  Being  Profane  before  the  Consciously  Pious. 

18.  "Darius  Greens." 

19.  Tellers  of  Dreams. 

20.  Making  the  Most  of  Misfortunes. 

21 .  The  Moral  Value  of  Carrying  a  Cane. 

22.  Souvenir  Hunting. 

23.  The  Person  Who  Has  Always  Had  "The  Same  Experience  Myself.'* 

24.  Prayer-meeting  Courtships.  i 

25.  The  Exhaustion  of  Repose. 

26.  "See  the  Birdie,  Darling!" 

27.  Politeness  to  Rich  Relatives. 

28.  "It  must  be  so;  I  Read  it  m  a  Bookl" 


THE  INFORMAL  ESSAY  253 

29.  "Anjrw'ay,"  as  Stevenson  said,  "I  did  my  darndest." 

30.  The  Moral  Rigor  of  the  Nightly  Setting-up  Exercises. 

31.  "Hooking Rides." 

32.  A  Society  to  Forbid  Learning  to  Play  the  Trombone 

(or  Cornet  or  Piano  or  anything  else). 

33.  A  Sophomore  for  Life. 

34.  Country  Auctions. 

35.  The  Virtues  of  Enviousness. 

36.  The  Melancholy  of  Old  Bachelors. 

37.  Village  "  Cut-ups." 

38.  Early  Assurances  of  Doleful  Dying. 

39.  Failing,  to  make  Money,  through  Failure  to  make  Money. 

40.  People  who  never  Did  Wrong  as  Children. 

41.  "Just  Wait  till  I'm  Grown-up!" 

42.  Philosophers'  Toothaches. 

43.  The  Morality  of  Stubbing  One's  Toe  in  the  Dark. 

44.  The  Dolefulness  of  Celebrations. 

45.  What  to  Do  with  Bores. 

46.  The  Young  and  the  Still-young  Woman. 

47.  The  Satisfaction  of  Intolerance. 

48.  The  Struggle  to  be  an  "Intellectual." 

49.  Church  Socials. 

60.  The  Revelations  of  Food  Sales. 
51.  White-haired  Enthusiasm. 
62.  "  I  have  It  in  my  Card  Index." 
53.  The  Rigors  of  Shaving. 

64.  The  Right  to  a  "Beauty  Box." 

65.  "Hopelessly  Sane." 

66.  The  "Job"  After  Graduation. 

67.  The  Stupidity  of  Heaven. 

68.  The  Boon  Companions  of  Hell. 

69.  People  Who  Remember  When  You  Were  "Only  So  High!" 

60.  Being  a  Gentleman  though  Rich, 

61.  Great  Men  One  Might  Wish  to  Have  Thrashed. 

62.  The  Awful  Servant. 

63.  Morality  When  the  Thermometer  Reads  95°. 

64.  The  Technique  of  Teas. 

65.  Dangers  of  Criticism. 

66.  Starvation  or  a  New  Cook? 

67.  Superior  Profanity. 

68.  The  Logic  of  the  Movies. 

69.  The  "Woman's  Page." 

70.  The  Neatness  of  Men. 

71.  On  Taking  Off  One's  Hat. 

72.  Fashions  in  Slang. 

73.  Ambitions  at  Thirteen. 


254  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

74.  The  Joys  of  Whittling. 

75.  Learning,  without  Education. 

THINGS 

1.  Individuality  in  Shoes. 

2.  Alarm  Clocks. 

3.  Rail  Fences. 

4.  Chimney  Pots. 

6.  Illuminated  Mottoes. 

6.  "Fresh  Paint." 

7.  Social  Caste  of  Tombstones. 

8.  The  Lure  of  Banks. 

9.  The  Witchery  of  Seed  Catalogues. 

10.  Colonial  Windows. 

11.  Fishing  Tackle  in  the  Attic  in  January. 

12.  The  In?(itation  of  the  Label. 

13.  Stolen  Umbrellas. 

14.  The  Dolefuless  of  the  Comic  Supplement. 

15.  The  Humorousness  of  Card  Catalogues. 

16.  The  Sweets  and  Dregs  of  Tin  Roofs. 

17.  The  Tyranny  of  Remembered  Melodies. 

18.  Friendly  Old  Cloti^. 

19.  The  Age  of  the  Pennant. 

20.  The  Upper  Berth. 

21.  Bills  in  Dining  Cars. 

22.  Pound  Cake. 

23.  The  Toothsome  Drumstick. 

24.  Cravats  One  Might  Wish  to  Have  Worn. 

25.  Spite  Fences. 

26.  Personality  of  Teapots. 

27.  "All  You  Have  to  Do  Is  — " 

28.  Smoke  on  the  Skyline. 

29.  The  First  Long  Trousers. 

30.  The  New  Pipe. 

31.  The  Old  Springboard. 

32.  Drinking  Fountains. 

33.  The  Work-savers  —  now  in  the  Attic. 

34.  Candlesticks. 

35.  The  Cantankerousness  of  Gas  Engines. 

-  36.  Weeds. 

37.  The  Pride  of  Uniforms. 

38.  Leather-covered  Books. 

39.  The  Pursuit  of  Oriental  Rugs. 

-  40.  W^edding  Presents. 
41.  Bird  Baths. 


THE  INI'ORMAL  ESSAY  255 

42.  The  Charm  of  Oil-Heaters. 

43.  The  Coquetry  of  Gift  Shops. 

44.  The  Passing  of  the  Hitching  Post. 

45.  Names  One  Might  Wish  to  Have  Had. 

46.  Hall  Bedrooms. 

47.  The  Lm-e  of  Historic  Tablets. 

48.  The  Futility  of  Diaries. 

49.  Squeaking  Boards  at  Midnight. 
60.  The  Caste  of  Letter  Heads. 

NATURE 

1.  Walking  in  the  Rain. 

2.  Skylines. 

3.  The  Personified  Trees  of  Childhood. 

4.  Coffee  in  the  Woods. 

5.  The  Psychology  of  Hens. 

6.  The  Humanity  of  Barnyards. 

7.  The  Smell  of  Spring. 

8.  The  Perfume  of  Bonfires. 

9.  The  Sounds  of  Rimning  Water. 

10.  Tracks  in  the  Snow. 

11.  The  Spectrum  of  Autumn. 

12.  The  Mellowness  of  Gardens. 

13.  The  Clamor  of  the  Silent  Stretches. 

14.  The  Iimocent  Joy  of  Not  Knowing  the  Birds. 

15.  The  Rigors  of  the  Sleeping  Porch. 

16.  Inspiration  of  Mountain-tops. 

17.  Noises  on  Cold  Winter  Nights. 

18.  Cherries  or  Robins? 

19.  The  Airedale  Pal. 

20.  Snakes  I  Have  Never  Met. 

21.  The  Exhilaration  of  Winds. 

22.  Spring  Fever. 

23.  The  Philosophy  of  Campfires. 

24.  Birds  in  a  City  Yard. 

25.  The  Majesty  of  Thunderstorms. 

26.  The  Music  of  Snow  Water. 

27.  Hedges. 

28.  Mountain  Springs. 

29.  The  Deep  Woods. 

30.  Summer  Clouds. 

31.  The  Companionable  Birds. 

32.  The  Dignity  of  Crows. 

33.  Trout  Pools. 

34.  Muskrat  Trails. 


256  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

35.  The  First  Flowers  of  Spring, 

36.  The  Squirrels  in  the  Park. 

37.  The  Dry  Sounds  in  Nature. 

38.  The  Honk  of  the  Flying  Wedge. 

39.  The  Pageant  of  the  Warblers. 

40.  The  Challenge  of  Crags  and  Ledges. 

41.  The  White-birch  Country, 

42.  Apple  Blossom  Time. 

43.  The  Majesty  of  Rivers. 

44.  Old  Orchards. 

45.  Dried  Herbs. 

46.  Friendly  Roadside  Bushes. 

47.  The  Exultant  Leap  of  Waterfalls. 

48.  The  Wind  in  Hemlock,  Pine,  and  Spruce. 

49.  Tree  Houses. 

60,  The  Collection  of  Pressed  Flowers. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY 

Biography  is  of  three  kinds.  First  there  is  the  purely 
dramatic,  such  as  we  find  in  the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  Barrie, 
and  others,  and  often  in  novels  of  the  more  dramatic  kind, 
which  sets  the  subject  to  marching  up  and  down  before  our 
eyes,  with  the  gestures  and  the  speech  of  life.  Such  biogra- 
phy sometimes  covers  a  whole  life,  more  often  only  a  fraction 
from  which  we  are  to  judge  of  the  whole.  From  this  kind  of 
biography  we  draw  our  own  conclusions  of  the  hero;  tlie  pro- 
ducer sweeps  aside  the  curtain,  displays  his  people,  bows, 
and  leaves  us  to  our  comment.  This  is  a  most  stimulating 
form  of  writing.  The  reader  vicariously  treads  the  Roman 
Forum,  or  fights  under  the  banner  of  the  great  Alfred,  or 
perhaps  jostles  in  the  surge  of  politics,  or  dreams  an  artist's 
dream,  or  even  performs  the  humble  chores  of  a  lonely  farm- 
house. The  personalities  may  never  have  lived  except  in  the 
writer's  brain,  yet  who  that  has  read  of  Colonel  Newcome 
ever  lets  fade  from  his  list  of  friends  that  delightful  gentle- 
man? Who  that  has  once  met  Falstaff  forgets  the  roaring, 
jolly  old  knave?  Stevenson  gave  witness  that  almost  more 
than  from  any  one  else  his  courage  and  good  cheer  in  dark 
days  had  caught  fire  from  the  personality  of  Shakespeare's 
heroine  Rosalind.  If  these  persons  of  the  imagination  can 
stimulate,  how  much  more  ought  the  subjects  of  the  other 
two  forms  of  biography  to  fire  the  brain,  for  they  are  usually 
taken  from  real  life,  are  people  who  have  faced  the  actual 
problems  such  as  the  reader  is  meeting,  people  who  have  per- 
haps flamed  in  a  glorious  career  from  birth  to  death  or  per- 
haps have  gone  quietly  all  their  days.  The  second  form  of 
biography  is  purely  analytical.     It  watches  its  subject,  fol- 


258  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

lows  him  through  hfe,  and  only  after  this  study  sets  down 
its  words,  which  aim  to  state  for  the  reader  the  meaning  of 
the  Hfe.  Such  biography  is  illustrated  in  the  brief  analyses 
of  Mr.  Balfour  and  Mr.  Hardy  on  page  148.  Here  the  au- 
thor is  the  logical  thinker  who  draws  the  conclusions  of  care- 
ful meditation  and  says:  such  was  the  significance  of  this 
man,  this  woman.  The  third  kind  of  biography,  the  exposi- 
tory, the  kind  with  which  we  are  here  concerned,  attempts 
to  combine  the  other  two,  hopes  to  present  the  pageant  of 
life  which  the  hero  lived,  and  especially  to  make  an  estimate 
of  its  importance,  its  significance.  Some  novels  approach 
this  form  when  the  author  stops,  as  Thackeray  often  does, 
to  comment  on  the  meaning  of  his  people  and  their  deeds. 
This  kind  of  biography  attempts  to  accomplish  what  Car- 
lyle  thought  should  be  attempted,  the  ability  to  say,  "There 
is  my  hero,  there  is  the  physiognomy  and  meaning  of  his 
appearance  and  transit  on  this  earth ;  such  was  he  by  nature, 
so  did  the  world  act  on  him,  so  he  on  the  world,  with  such 
result  and  significance  for  himseK  and  us." 

The  Problem 

The  primary  object  of  expository  biography  is  so  to  build 
up  before  the  reader's  eyes  the  figure  of  the  hero,  so  to  cast 
against  the  background  of  life  the  warm  personality,  so  to 
recreate  the  lineaments  and  so  to  give  perspective  to  the 
whole  that  the  reader  will  know  the  hero,  will  be  able  to 
grasp  his  hand  as  a  fellow  human  being  with  the  game  of  Hfe 
to  play,  and  will  be  aware  of  the  significance  of  the  personal- 
ity to  his  times  and  to  the  reader  himself.  To  paint  the  man  is 
the  pleasurable  adventure  before  the  writer.  Sir  Christopher 
Wren  bade  us,  if  we  wished  a  memorial  of  him,  to  "look 
around"  upon  the  arches  and  the  high  dim  places  of  his 
cathedral.  So  the  writer  of  expository  biography  must  plant 
himself  in  the  deeds  and  desires  of  his  hero,  must  gaze  stead- 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  259 

ily  into  his  eyes  until  he  discovers  the  center  of  his  being,  and 
must  tlien  set  down  the  words,  which,  if  well  enough  chosen, 
wisely  enough  fitted,  will  outlast  the  toughest  stone.  It  is  in 
lack  of  true  comprehension  of  the  hero's  life  that  so  many 
expository  biographies  fail  to  inspire  the  reader,  in  the  fail- 
ure to  remember  that  the  writer  is  not  merely  "silently  ex- 
pressing old  mortality,  the  ruins  of  forgotten  times,"  but  is 
trying  to  catch  and  record  a  living  force,  to  live  as  long  as 
men  understand  it  and  are  moved  by  it. 

The  chief  duty  of  the  biographer,  then,  is  to  discover  the 
life-problem  of  his  hero,  to  understand  it,  to  learn  how  the 
hero  came  by  it,  how  he  tried  to  solve  it,  and  what  its  sig- 
nificance is.  Now  this  is  much  more  easily  accomplished 
with  the  personalities  who  have  closed  their  span  of  existence 
than  with  those  whom  we  know  still  living,  with  their  answer 
to  their  problem  yet  incomplete.  Few  of  us  have  what 
Mary  Lamb  said  she  possessed,  "a  knack  I  know  I  have  of 
looking  into  peoples'  real  character  and  never  expecting 
them  to  act  out  of  it  —  never  expecting  another  to  do  as  I 
would  in  the  same  case,"  All  the  facts  of  personality,  the 
hints  and  gleams  and  shadows,  bewilder  us  at  times  w^ith  our 
friends,  and  we  regret  the  lack  of  perspective  that  reveals  the 
central  life-problem.  But  when  we  turn  to  Julius  Caesar,  to 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  to  George  Washington,  or  to  some  humble 
dweller  of  past  days,  we  can  see  the  life  whole,  can  discover 
the  heredity,  the  natural  endowment,  the  surroundings,  the 
changing  deeds  and  the  shifting  acquaintances  and  friends 
that  determined  for  the  hero  what  the  life-problem  should 
be.  With  the  truly  remarkable  advantage,  then,  of  this 
central  conception,  we  can  fall  into  cadence  with  the  stride 
of  our  hero  marching  against  his  problem  and  can  picture 
forth  the  struggle  and  its  significance. 

In  every  biography  there  is  this  problem.  Your  hero  is 
at  "  that  game  of  consequences  to  which  we  all  sit  down,  the 
hanger-back  not  least,"  as  Stevenson  called  life,  and  the 


260  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

manner  in  which  the  hero  perceives  the  "imperious  desires 
and  staggering  consequences "  will  determine  the  flavor  of 
his  life.  To  turn  to  Stevenson  himself  we  find  a  white-hot 
flame  of  romance  cased  in  a  feeble  wraith  of  a  body,  the  heart 
of  the  man  daring  all  things,  romping  through  life  a  deathless 
youth  before  the  problem  of  adjustment  between  body  and 
spirit.  Or  take  the  compounding  of  that  tremendous  figure, 
George  Washington  —  adamant  integrity,  the  zeal  which,  if 
unchecked,  would  often  have  brought  the  house  tumbling 
about  his  ears,  the  endless  capacity  for  indignation,  and  with 
these  the  patience  that  left  men  well-nigh  dazed  and  the  self- 
control  that  made  him  god-like.  Set  him  in  the  midst  of  the 
hurly-burly  of  a  young  nation  as  doubtful  of  itself  as  youth, 
as  eager,  as  impetuous,  as  contradictory,  with  the  forces  of 
the  Old  World  pitted  against  it  and  with  many  traitors  in  its 
fold.  Then  conceive  the  problem  of  forming  wise  conjunc- 
tion between  vision  and  accomplishment,  between  desire  and 
restraint,  and  the  life  of  the  man  is  at  once  unified,  centered, 
illuminated,  and  made  significant. 

The  same  result  follows  searching  to  the  heart  of  any  hero, 
high  or  low,  and  failure  thus  to  reach  the  heart  causes  the 
pallid  uninteresting  heaping  of  details  that  mean  nothing  to 
the  reader.  No  architect  can  glorify  the  horizon  with  the 
silhouette  of  a  cathedral,  nor  can  he  even  give  a  meaning  to 
his  accumulation  of  stone  and  mosaic  and  mortar,  if  he  heaps 
here  a  pile  and  there  a  pile,  rears  here  a  chapel,  somewhere 
else  as  fancy  directs  lays  out  an  aisle,  with  no  central  prob- 
lem of  relationship.  Nor  can  you  dignify  your  hero's  nature 
with  a  mere  basket  collection  of  the  flying  chips  of  life  —  a 
deed  here,  a  word  there,  a  desire  at  another  time.  First, 
then,  discover  the  problem  that  your  hero  faced  in  the  rela- 
tion of  his  character  to  itself  and  to  its  times. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  261 

The  Chief  Aid  in  Solving  the  Problem 

To  discover  the  problem,  really  to  understand  it,  requires 
as  your  chief  tool  imaginative  sympathy.  Without  this  your 
writing  will  leave  your  hero  as  flat  and  shiny  as  any  con- 
scientiously laundered  piece  of  linen.  You  are  to  picture 
him  in  relief,  in  the  round,  to  make  him  live  again,  step  down 
from  his  pedestal,  and  put  his  shoulder  alongside  ours  and 
speak  to  us.  We  read  in  a  history  that  faces  the  necessity  of 
condensation  how  William  the  Conqueror  "consolidated  his 
domains'"  —  and  it  means  nothing  at  all  to  us  of  stimulat- 
ing individual  value.  We  do  not  think  of  the  recalcitrant 
underlings  whose  necks  he  had  to  force  to  bow,  of  the  weary 
eyes  that  gladly  closed  at  the  end  of  a  terrible  day's  work,  of 
the  frequent  desire,  which  at  times  must  be  suppressed,  per- 
haps at  times  gratified,  to  run  a  sword  through  an  opposing 
subject.  We  forget,  in  other  words,  that  William  was  a  man, 
a  personality,  a  bundle  of  nervous  reactions  and  desires. 
But  the  writing  fails,  as  biography,  unless  we  do  remember 
these  things.  It  is  in  the  discovery  and  understanding  of 
these  details  and  in  combining  them  into  a  personality  that 
our  sympathy  is  required.  No  one  should  set  pen  to  paper 
in  the  service  of  biography  who  has  not  a  lively  personal 
interest  in  his  hero,  who  has  not  an  open,  loving  feeling  for 
him  —  saint  or  villain  whichever  he  may  be  —  and  desires 
to  make  his  reader,  in  turn,  feel  the  hero's  personality.  The 
ideal  biographer  is  he  who  can  peep  out  through  the  eyes  of 
his  hero  at  the  sights  which  he  saw,  can  feel  the  surge  of  am- 
bition, of  love,  of  hate,  the  quickening  of  the  heart  at  suc- 
cess, and  the  cold  pallor  of  defeat.  We  have  seen  a  grown 
person  watch  with  cold  eyes  a  child  who  wrestles  with  a 
problem  of  digging  a  ditch  or  building  a  dam  or  making  a 
harness  for  the  dog,  gradually  lose  the  coldness  of  indiffer- 
ence, forget  the  gulf  of  years,  kindle  to  the  problem,  and 
finally  with  delight  catch  up  spade  or  leather  and  give  assist- 


262  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

ance.  Until  you  feel  a  similar  thrill  of  sharing  experience 
with  your  hero,  do  not  write  about  him. 

Most  of  us  really  have  this  interest  but  we  browbeat  our- 
selves into  a  belief  that  a  biography,  especially  an  expository 
biography,  must  be  dull.  And,  sad  though  we  may  be  to 
admit  it,  most  such  biographies  \\Titten  for  courses  in  Uter- 
ature  or  history,  are  —  well,  plain  stupid.  The  lives  are,  to 
use  Samuel  Johnson's  words,  "begun  with  a  pedigree  and 
ended  with  a  funeral,"  and  the  dull  stretch  between  is  a  mere 
series  of  events  which  find  unity  only  in  that  they  all  happen 
to  the  same  person.  Such  writing  is,  truly,  inexcusable;  it  is 
like  the  railway  journey  of  the  imfortunate  soul  who  sees 
nothing  but  the  clambering  aboard  and  then  the  folding  of 
the  hands  for  a  long  dull  jouncing  until  lethargy  can  be 
thrown  off  and  it  is  time  to  clamber  down  again.  Had  the 
traveler  but  the  insight,  or  the  inclination,  he  would  per- 
ceive that  his  journey  is  a  high  adventure  spiced  with  a  deli- 
cious flavor  of  challenge  and  reply.  Just  so  you  may  find 
that  the  writing  of  expository  biography  has  the  charm  of 
life  itself.  The  patient  clerk  bends  over  his  record  sheet  and 
attests  the  arrival,  the  departure,  of  lifeless  baggage  tossed 
from  hand  to  hand,  from  car  to  car,  piled  up,  taken  down 
and  set  finally  to  rest  at  its  destination.  But  you  deal  not 
with  lifeless  baggage  but  with  the  fascinating  compound  of 
flesh  and  blood,  of  desire  and  of  will,  that  changes  the  face 
of  the  world.  No  mere  matter-of-fact  attitude  here,  but  the 
perpetual  wonder  and  joy  at  the  turns  and  flashes  of  himian 
personality.  Rather  than  be  a  matter-of-fact  man  Lamb 
wisely  preferred  being  a  "matter-of-lie"  man;  the  writer  of 
expository  biography  finds  that  his  material  is  of  such  a 
nature  as  to  be  more  interesting  even  than  lies.  As  Sir 
Thomas  Browne  said  of  his  not  remarkable  life,  "which  to 
relate  were  not  a  history  but  a  piece  of  poetry  and  would 
sound  to  common  ears  a  fable." 

Most  of  us  find  that  the  most  fascinating  study  for  man  is 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  263 

Man.  Not  only  do  we  believe  that  "man  is  a  noble  animal, 
splendid  in  ashes,  and  pompous  in  the  grave,"  but  that  while 
alive  he  is  more  alluring  than  anything  else.  We  might  con- 
ceivably even  argue  that  Socrates  advised  "Know  thj^self " 
out  of  fear  lest  our  curiosity  about  our  fellows  absorb  all  our 
effort.  But  so  great  is  our  fear  of  the  formality  of  biogra- 
phy that  we  often  belie  our  sympathy  and  think  that  only  the 
large  dim  figures  of  the  past,  kings  and  potentates,  who  stride 
through  mighty  events,  are  possible  for  treatment.  Our  fear 
is  false.  Stevenson  was  again  correct  in  saying,  "The  man 
who  lost  his  life  against  a  hen  roost  is  in  the  same  pickle  with 
the  man  who  lost  his  life  against  a  fortified  place  of  the  first 
order."  No  life  ever  existed  —  absolutely  not  one  —  that 
was  not  capable  of  an  absorbing  expository  biography.  The 
true  biographer  never  takes  the  point  of  view  of  the  philoso- 
pher who  said,  "Most  men  and  women  are  merely  one  couple 
more."  Rather  he  knows  that,  however  slight  in  the  sweep- 
ing cycle  of  time  a  stick  of  striped  candy  may  be,  to  the  child 
who  drops  it  into  the  gutter  it  is  of  more  weight  than  a  royal 
scepter.  He  know^s,  too,  that  the  ordinary,  respectable  citi- 
zen, one  of  the  "common  people,"  though  he  never  is  subject 
to  scandal  like  a  villain  and  never  molds  kingdoms  like  the 
great  figures  of  history,  is  nevertheless,  in  his  quiet  sphere, 
a  fit  hero  for  biography.  He  sees  that  to  such  a  person  the 
gaining,  through  patient  years  of  toil,  of  a  little  homestead, 
is  as  great  a  victory  as  for  an  emperor  to  conquer  a  country, 
that  to  be  elected  moderator  of  the  town  meeting  or  presi- 
dent of  the  "literary  club "  is  a  large  adventure.  Barrie  had 
the  imagination  to  see  that  the  day  when  the  six  haircloth 
chairs  entered  his  mother's  parlor  as  the  culmination  of  a 
long  campaign,  was  a  day  to  her  of  thrilling  adventure,  of 
conquest,  of  triumph.  And  yet  we  are  afraid  that  biography 
ought  to  be  dull! 

Fear  of  the  formality  of  vsriting  is  often  the  cause  of  our 
making  expository  biography  a  mere  combination  of  the  sue- 


264  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

cession  of  events  which  history  shows  and  a  few  dull  com- 
ments about  the  subject,  instead  of  a  real  interpretation 
illuminated  with  the  magic  of  sympathetic  understanding. 
Witli  this  fear  upon  us  we  write  as  awkwardly,  as  lifelessly, 
as  we  deport  ourselves  at  a  reception  where  we  forget  the 
pulse  of  humanity  and  are  clutched  by  the  fear  of  —  we 
know  not  what.  Such  a  fear  would  palsy  the  hand  of  him 
who  should  attempt  to  weave  even  the  treasury  of  facts  in 
the  following  statement  with  an  estimate  of  their  signifi- 
cance. Writing  of  General  Judah  P.  Benjamin,  of  the  Amer- 
ican Civil  War,  Mr.  Gamaliel  Bradford  says : 

Benjamin  was  a  Jew.  He  was  born  a  British  subject.  He  made  a 
brilliant  reputation  at  the  Louisiana  Bar  and  was  offered  a  seat  in 
the  United  States  Supreme  Court.  He  became  United  States  sen- 
ator. When  his  state  seceded,  he  went  with  it,  and  filled  three 
cabinet  positions  under  the  Confederacy.  He  fell  with  the  im- 
mense collapse  of  that  dream  fabric.  Then,  at  the  age  of  fifty-four, 
he  set  himself  to  build  up  a  new  fortune  and  a  new  glory,  and  he 
died  one  of  the  most  successful  and  respected  barristers  in  London.* 

But  with  fear  thrown  off,  with  enthusiastic  desire  really 
to  understand  sympathetically,  we  find  no  lack  of  interest. 
To  any  one  the  terrible  storm  in  the  harbor  of  Apia,  when 
ships  were  wrecked  like  straws  and  lives  were  spilled  out  by 
scores,  would  oflFer  material  because  of  the  horror  of  the 
events.  But  only  with  imaginative  sympathy  could  we 
write  an  expository  biography  of  a  humble  "Jackie"  on  a 
United  States  boat  in  the  harbor.  With  such  sympathy,  as 
we  read  that  after  the  gruelling  agony  of  long  fruitless  fight- 
ing against  the  storm  the  sailors  of  the  United  States  Steam- 
ship Trenton,  which  was  pounding  its  wooden  hull  to  splin- 
ters on  the  reef,  climbed  into  the  rigging  and  cheered  while 
the  more  lucky  British  boat  Calliope  steamed  past  on  her 
way  to  safety  in  the  open  sea,  we  are  thrilled  with  the  fact 

*  Gamaliel  Bradford:  Juiah  P.  Benjamin,  By  courtesy  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly  Com- 
panj'. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  265 

that  of  those  gallant  seamen  every  one  is  worthy  of  record. 
Some  quiet  lad  from  perhaps  a  white  farmhouse  tucked  into 
a  little  valley,  who  was  honestly  doing  his  duty  and  hoping 
for  the  glory  of  the  time  when  he  should  be  a  petty  officer, 
now  while  the  teeth  of  death  are  already  bared  gloriously 
lifts  up  his  young  voice  in  gallant  recognition  of  his  more  suc- 
cessful fellows  of  the  Calliope!  And  yet  the  official  record 
of  the  event  would  imply  no  possibility  of  finding  romance 
in  this  humble  individual  life. 

The  "meanest  flower  that  blows"  moved  the  poet's  heart; 
we  need  not  be  poets,  but  only  sympathetic  human  beings, 
with  the  great  gift  of  comradeship,  to  be  moved  by  even  the 
lowliest  man  or  woman.  And  the  objection  that  rises  un- 
bidden and  declares  us  unfit  to  write  exjDOsitory  biography 
because  we  have  not  ourselves  kno\^ai  great  men  is  false. 
Quite  truly  Carlyle  demolishes  such  objection:  "What  make 
ye  of  Parson  White  of  Selborne.'*  He  had  not  only  no  great 
men  to  look  on,  but  not  even  men;  merely  sparrows  and  cock- 
chafers; yet  has  he  left  us  a  Biography  of  these;  which,  under 
its  title  Natural  History  of  Selhorne,  still  remains  %'aluable  to 
us;  which  has  copied  a  little  sentence  or  two  f aithfjiUy  from 
the  Inspired  Volume  of  Nature,  and  is  itself  not  without  in- 
spiration. Gro  ye  and  do  likewise."  Certainly  if  you  face 
the  setting  forth  of  the  life  of  some  large  figure  of  the  past 
you  have  a  fascinating  pageant  to  unriddle,  to  centralize. 
x\nd  just  as  sureh'  if  you  turn  to  the  familiar  figures  of  your 
home  town,  of  your  family  history,  and  really  lay  your  spirit 
alongside,  you  will  find  deep  significance  for  yourself  and  for 
your  reader.  For  every  human  being  has  its  Waterloo. 
Sometimes  we  play  Wellington,  sometimes  Bonaparte,  but 
whether  winning  or  losing  we  all  tread  the  same  way,  and 
the  fight  is  as  significant  to  each  as  ever  the  victory  or  defeat 
of  Waterloo  was  to  Wellington  or  Napoleon. 


oee  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

The  Process  of  Solving  the  Problem 

With  this  great  requisite  of  imaginative  sympathy  that 
sees  value  in  all  human  beings,  then,  we  set  out  on  our  chief 
task,  to  find  the  life-problem  of  our  particular  hero.  This 
necessitates  definition  and  analysis.  Somehow  we  must  find 
the  sphere  in  which  our  hero  moved,  the  group  to  which 
he  belonged,  and  must  then  discover  the  qualities  that  he 
showed  in  the  group  which  made  him  a  real  individual. 
Such  definition  and  analysis  will  appear  when  we  examine 
the  character  of  the  hero  and  the  events  in  his  life. 

I.  Defining  the-  Character 

In  placing  the  subject  of  biography  in  a  group  we  must  take 
care  to  unify  the  character  and  at  the  same  time  to  escape 
making  him  merely  typical.  A  biography  is  a  portrait,  and 
if  it  omits  the  peculiar  lineaments  that  distinguish  the  hero 
from  all  others,  if  it  overlooks  the  little  details  of  personality, 
it  is  valueless,  and  certainly  uninteresting.  The  names  of 
characters  in  old  dramas,  such  as  Justice  Clement,  Justice 
Shallow,  Fastidious  Brisk,  Sir  Politick  Would-be,  and  of  some 
of  Scott's  characters  such  as  Poundtext,  Rev.  Gabriel  Kettle- 
drummle,  Mr.  Hold  enough,  indicate  the  central  point  of  view 
of  the  characters  but  do  not  individualize  them.  Before 
we  are  really  interested  in  these  people  we  must  see  the  per- 
sonal traits  that  give  charm.  The  unifying  and  centralizing 
of  the  character  will  be  accomplished  through  discovering 
the  fundamental  nature.  When  Cavour  wrote,  "I  am  a  son 
of  Liberty,  and  it  is  to  her  that  I  owe  all  that  I  am,"  he  clas- 
sified himself  at  once  through  revealing  the  inner  heart  of  his 
being.  Mr.  George  Whibley  gives  botli  outward  action  and 
inward  attitude  when  he  writes,  "George  Buchanan  was  the 
type  and  exemplar  of  the  wandering  Scot."  So  a  writer  in 
tlie  New  York  Nation  ^  classifies  William  James  by  finding 

>  Vol.  94,  p.  3G3. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  267 

the  controlling  motives  of  his  life.  "He  was  a  force  of  ex- 
pansion, not  a  force  of  concentration.  He  'opens  doors  and 
windows,'  shakes  out  a  mind  that  has  long  lain  in  the  creases 
of  prejudice.  He  is  the  miost  vital  and  gifted  exemplar  of 
intellectual  sympathy."  Again,  Mr.  Bradford,  in  charac- 
terizing General  Sherman,  writes,  "Sherman  is  like  one  of 
our  clear  blue  January  days,  with  a  fresh  north  wind.  It 
stimulates  you.  It  inspires  you.  But  crisp,  vivid,  intoxi- 
cating as  it  is,  it  seems  to  me  that  too  prolonged  enjoyment 
of  such  weather  would  dry  my  soul  till  the  vague  fragrance 
of  immortality  was  all  gone  out  of  it."  And  when  some  one 
asked  Goldsmith,  referring  to  Boswell,  "Who  is  this  Scotch 
cur  at  Johnson's  heels?"  Goldsmith  replied,  "He  is  not  a  cur, 
he  is  only  a  bur.  Tom  Davies  flung  him  at  Johnson  in  sport, 
and  he  has  the  faculty  of  sticking."  Each  of  these  character- 
izations classifies  the  subject;  no  one  of  them  makes  him  a 
distinct  personality,  for  tliousands  have  been  wandering 
Scots,  forces  of  expansion,  burs.  The  typifying  is  of  great 
value  in  establishing  the  central  point  of  view  of  the  subject, 
but  it  cannot  be  left  to  stand  alone  in  a  real  portrait. 

It  is  necessary  that  we  define  our  hero  by  determining  the 
class  to  which  he  belongs,  but  such  definition  brings  a  great 
danger,  the  danger  of  making  a  warped  interpretation.  At 
once  we  must  take  care,  when  we  discover  the  type  of  a  man, 
not  to  overwork  the  type  qualities,  not  to  make  everything 
conform  to  this  inner  core,  whether  tlie  detail  properly  fits 
or  not.  For  example,  once  we  have  called  a  man  a  liberal 
we  shall  need  to  guard  against  denying  the  conservative  acts 
which  are  in  themselves  contradictory  of  the  general  nature 
though  in  the  large  they  fuse  with  it.  Such  a  tag  is  likely, 
if  not  guarded  against,  to  make  the  writer  the  victim  of  a 
kind  of  color-blindness  in  character,  so  that  he  can  see  only 
the  crimson  of  liberal,  the  lavender  of  conservative.  In  a 
sentence  like  the  following  there  lurks  the  possibility  of  over- 
working a  point  of  view,  of  riding  rough-shod  over  details 


2G8  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

that  do  not  immediately  swing  into  line.  Speaking  of 
General  Hooker,  "General  Walker  observes  shrewdly,  'He 
was  handsome  and  picturesque  in  the  extreme,  but  with  a 
fatally  weak  chin'  . . .  Bear  it  in  mind  in  our  further  study." 
Spontaneity  of  reaction  to  the  hero  is  in  possible  danger  of 
extinction  when  the  biographer  has  solidly  set  down  tlie 
class  name.  The  same  danger  is  at  hand  when  we  find  and 
state  the  controlling  motive  of  the  hero's  life,  as  when  we  say 
that  he  was  primarily  ambitious,  or  exhibited  above  every- 
thing else  courage.  We  need  be  careful  lest  trivial  matters 
be  made  to  appear  ambitious,  thrillingly  courageous,  and 
lest  we  deny  what  seems  contradictory.  In  the  following 
characterization  of  the  historian  Green  by  his  friend  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Haweis  we  find  no  such  cramping  effect,  but  a 
welling  forth  of  creative  impression  that  makes  Green  live 
before  our  eyes. 

That  slight  nervous  figure,  below  the  medium  height;  that  tall 
forehead,  with  the  head  prematurely  bald;  the  quick  but  small  eyes, 
rather  close  together;  the  thin  mouth,  with  lips  seldom  at  rest, 
but  often  closed  tightly  as  though  the  teeth  were  clenched  with  an 
odd  kind  of  latent  energy  beneath  them;  the  shght,  almost  femi- 
nine hands;  the  little  stoop;  the  quick  alert  step;  the  flashing  exu- 
berance of  spirits;  the  sunny  smile;  the  torrent  of  quick  invective, 
scorn,  or  badinage,  exchanged  in  a  moment  for  a  burst  of  sym- 
pathy or  a  delightful  and  prolonged  flow  of  narrative  —  all  this 
comes  back  to  me  vividly!  And  what  narrative,  what  anecdote, 
what  glancing  wit!  What  a  talker!  A  man  who  shrank  from  so- 
ciety, and  yet  was  so  fitted  to  adorn  and  instruct  every  company 
he  approached,  from  a  parochial  assembly  to  a  statesman's  recep- 
tion! But  how  enchanting  were  my  walks  with  him  in  the  Vic- 
toria Park,  that  one  outlet  of  Stepney  and  Bethnal  Green!  I 
never  in  my  life  so  lost  count  of  time  with  any  one  before  or 
since.  ...  I  have  sometimes,  after  spending  the  evening  with  him 
at  my  lodgings,  walked  back  to  St.  Pliilip's  Parsonage,  Stepney, 
towards  midnight,  talking;  then  he  has  walked  back  with  me  in 
the  summer  night,  talking;  and  when  the  dawn  broke  it  has  found 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  269 

us  belated  somewhere  in  the  lonely  Mile  End  Road,  still  unex- 
hausted, and  still  talking. ^ 

But  when  we  have  inveighed  as  much  as  we  need  against 
the  dangers  of  classification,  we  must  swing  round  to  the  first 
statement  tliat  for  unifying  the  character  and  giving  it  fun- 
damental significance  such  classification  is  of  great  impor- 
tance. 

Merely  to  find  the  type  to  which  a  character  belongs  is  not 
sufficient;  such  a  process  leaves  the  character  stamped,  to  be 
sure,  but  without  interest.  We  care  for  living  people  not 
chiefly  because  of  their  type  but  because  of  their  individu- 
ality, the  little  traits  that  set  them  apart  from  their  fellows. 
The  next  step,  therefore,  is  to  discover  and  reveal  the  indi- 
viduality. The  type  to  which  a  character  belongs  is  sliown 
by  the  large  sweep  of  his  whole  life;  his  individuality  is  re- 
vealed often  most  clearly  in  the  slight  incidents  by  the  way. 
For  this  reason  the  personal  anecdote  assumes  importance 
as  adding  both  interest  and  completeness  that  consists  in  fill- 
ing in  the  broad  expanses  of  the  portrait  with  the  lines  of  in- 
dividual ex])ression.  This  does  not  mean  that  all  anecdotes 
are  of  value  for  expository  biography;  only  those  which  are 
truly  in  the  stream  of  personality,  which  help  to  establish 
either  the  type  or  the  individual.  The  whimsical  nature  of 
the  little  incident  which  Mr.  George  Whibley  ^  relates  of  the 
"scoundrel"  Tom  Austin  is  of  value  not  because  it  makes  a 
picturesque  note  at  a  hanging,  but  because  it  really  helps 
to  establish  the  full  picture  of  the  man:  "When  Tom  Austin 
was  being  haltered  for  hanging,  the  Chaplain  asked  him  had 
he  anything  to  say.  'Only,  there's  a  woman  yonder  with 
some  curds  and  whey,  and  I  wish  I  could  have  a  pennyworth 
of  them  before  I  am  hanged,  because  I  don't  know  when  I 
shall  see  any  again.'"  It  is  easily  said  that  Lincoln  was  a 
great  democratic  soul  and  a  great  humorist.    These  are  two 

1  H.aweis:  Music  and  Morals.     By  courtesy  of  the  publishers,  Longmans,  Green  &  Co., 
New  York  City. 
*  A  Book  oj  ScoundreU, 


270  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

useful  tags.  But  when  we  know  that  to  the  Enghshman 
who  remarked,  "In  England,  you  know,  no  gentleman 
blacks  his  owti  shoes,"  he  replied,  "Whose  does  he  black, 
then?"  we  feel  the  peculiar  tang  of  the  Lincoln  personality 
along  with  the  type  qualities  of  democrat  and  humorist. 
After  we  have  classified  W^ashington  as  an  austere,  cold, 
unemotional  being,  we  find  both  corrective  for  a  too  nar- 
row classification,  and  insight  into  the  peculiar  qualities  of 
the  man  when  we  read  how  he  swore  "like  an  angel  from 
Heaven"  on  the  famous  occasion  of  the  encounter  with  Lee. 
For  the  anecdote  is,  we  see,  really  in  the  main  flow  of  Wash- 
ington's nature.  General  W^olfe  is  tagged  as  a  romantic 
young  warrior  but  takes  on  both  interest  and  personality 
when  we  read  of  his  repeating  Gray's  "Elegy  Written  in  a 
Country  Churchyard"  as  his  men  silently  rowed  him  to  the 
battle  on  the  Heights  of  Abraham.  The  personality  of 
Madame  de  Stael's  father  is  largely  illuminated  when  we 
learn  that  though  the  little  daughter  sat  primly  at  table  as 
long  as  her  mother  remained  in  the  room,  as  soon  as  she  re- 
tired, with  a  cry  of  delight  the  child  flung  her  napkin  at  her 
father's  head.  Anecdote  is  highly  useful  so  long  as  we  re- 
member that  it  is  not  for  adornment  but  for  revelation,  not 
primarily  for  interest  —  though  that  is  an  important  func- 
tion —  but  rather  for  proving  in  dramatic  particular  the 
quality  which  we  claim  for  our  hero.  Properly  chosen  anec- 
dotes should  be  the  high  lights  in  the  proof  of  qualities  which 
the  writer's  exposition  establishes  in  more  sober  manner. 
And  of  course  tliey  also  serve  to  show  the  differentia  which 
make  the  character  an  individual,  and  thus  help  to  com- 
plete the  definition. 

2.  Analyzing  the  Character 

a.  Heredity 
WTien  once  we  have  defined  the  character,  have  found  its 
class  and  to  some  extent  its  differentia,  we  can  by  analysis 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  271 

add  to  our  comprehension  of  it  and  to  the  distinguishing 
personal  traits.  We  must  break  up  the  character  and  see  its 
manifestations  and  the  results  of  the  influences  that  molded 
it.  Heredity  at  once  demands  recognition.  It  is  not  insig- 
nificant that  Emerson  was  the  descendant  of  a  long  line  of 
New  England  clergymen.  The  bravery  of  Stevenson  is 
accounted  for  partly  by  the  doughty  old  builder  of  light- 
houses, his  grandfather  Robert  Stevenson.  Descent  holds 
often,  apparently,  a  guiding  rein  in  directing  a  character  into 
its  life-problem.  Emerson's  problem  was  comparatively 
simplified,  so  far  as  personal  integrity  concerned  him,  for  he 
was  by  nature  good.  Lowell  testified  that  it  was  perfectly 
natural  for  himself  to  turn  to  literature,  since  in  his  child- 
hood he  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  smell  of  Russia 
leather  in  the  bindings  of  his  father's  books.  The  following 
sentence  ^  shows  the  grip  of  descent  through  the  centuries 
which  is  not  disguised  by  the  man's  name :  "  The  Mr.  Balfour 
of  those  days  has  been  altogether  outgrown  by  the  Admiralty 
First  Lord  of  the  existing  coalition,  a  Balfour  in  name  only, 
in  breadth  of  shoulders,  thickness  of  frame,  heaviness  of  jaw, 
and  proportions  of  forehead  a  Cecil  marvelously  recalling, 
not  only  his  illustrious  uncle,  but  that  relative's  Elizabethan 
ancestors."  "Men  are  what  their  mothers  made  them," 
says  Emerson.  "You  may  as  well  ask  a  loom  which  weaves 
huckabuck  why  it  does  not  make  cashmere,  as  expect 
poetry  from  this  engineer,  or  a  chemical  discovery  from  that 
jobber."  Partly,  at  least,  the  life-problem  is  determined  by 
the  heredity;  to  each  there  is  but  one  future,  "and  that  is 
already  determined  in  his  lobes  and  described  in  that  little 
fatty  face,  pig-eye,  and  squat  form,"  to  quote  Emerson 
again  even  though  he  lays  undue  stress,  perhaps,  upon  the 
power  of  descent.  In  the  paragraph  which  follows  you  will 
find  an  interesting  account  of  the  ancestry  of  O.  W.  Holmes, 
with  a  statement  also  of  the  essential  quiet  of  his  life,  which 

'  T.  H.  S.  Escott:  Great  Vidoriana.    T.  Fisher  Unwin,  London. 


27'2  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

is  nevertheless  so  often  thought  of  as  worthy  of  'biographical 
treatment. 

Dr.  Holmes  came  of  this  good,  old,  unmixed  New  England  stock 
that  ran  back  to  Hell  on  the  one  side  in  the  severest  orthodoxy 
and  up  to  Heaven  on  the  other  in  large  liberality.  He  discovered 
tliat  the  title  deeds  were  all  in  Heaven  —  while  all  other  claims 
were  by  squatters'  rights  outside  the  Garden  of  Eden.  So  Dr. 
Holmes  grew  into  a  Unitarian  and  proceeded  to  cultivate  the  de- 
scent which  lies  outside  Paradise.  His  father  was  a  minister,  so 
beautiful  in  countenance.  Holmes  tells  us,  that  he  could  never  have 
believed  an  unkind  thing,  and  his  mother  of  different  line  was  a 
Liberal  by  descent.  Holmes  was  born,  too,  to  the  conflicting  tradi- 
tions of  Yale  and  Harvard;  but  beyond  being  born,  practically 
nothing  ever  happened  to  him  afterwards.  He  had  a  little  group 
of  friends  who  were  actually  companions.  During  his  whole  life, 
except  the  two  years  of  medical  study  in  Europe  in  the  beginning 
of  his  career,  and  the  "hundred  days  in  Europe"  celebrated  in  one 
of  his  later  books,  he  was  never  further  away  from  Boston,  for  the 
most  part,  than  Salem  or  Beverly,  that  Beverly,  to  which  he  referred 
in  replying  to  a  friend  who  had  addressed  a  letter  to  him  from 
"Manchester-by-the-Sea,"  as  "Beverly-by-the-Depot."  He  went 
some  summers  to  Pittsfield  where  he  had  a  summer  house,  and 
where  the  sparkling  Berkshire  air  seemed  to  suit  his  effervescent 
mind.  But  he  was  never  "quite  at  home  beyond  the  smell  of  the 
Charles  River."  ^ 

b.  Interests 
Then  when  your  hero  grows  up,  what  are  his  interests: 
To  what  profession  or  kind  of  work  does  he  turn?  Where 
does  he  find  the  satisfaction  for  his  energy  that  searches  an 
outlet.'*  Does  he,  like  Thomas  Carlyle,  trj-^  one  and  another 
profession  only  to  fail  and  be  driven,  finally,  into  the  one 
work  in  which  he  could  find  the  answer  to  the  life-problem 
that  his  personality  presents.'*  When  his  profession  is  chosen, 
what  are  his  interests?     Does  he  work  out  his  problem  in  a 

*  Thomas  R.  Slicer:  From  Poet  to  Premier.  By  courtesy  of  the  publishers.  The  Grolier 
Society,  London. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  273 

narrowly  restricted  field,  or  does  he  call  in  the  powers  of  a 
wide  range  of  significant  pursuits?  No  expository  biogra- 
phy of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  can  overlook  the  astounding 
breadth  of  the  man's  activity,  especially  as  shown  in  the  re- 
markable document  which  he  presented  to  Ludovico  Sforza 
arranging  his  attainments  under  nine  different  headings  in 
military  engineering  and  adding  a  tenth  for  civil  engineering 
and  architecture,  —  and  finally  throwing  in,  as  a  suggestion, 
his  worth  as  painter  and  sculptor!  There  were  the  com- 
pounds of  a  life-problem  sufficiently  complex  to  satisfy  the 
most  captious.  Or  if  the  hero  never  moves  from  a  tiny 
hamlet,  treads  only  one  path  —  as  Pericles  is  said  to  have 
done  between  house  and  office  during  the  great  days  of  his 
power  —  the  fact  is  significant.  The  grasp  of  ideas  within 
whatever  field  the  hero  may  choose  is  also  important.  The 
distinction  between  the  personality  that  is  merely  efficient 
in  handling  facts,  and  the  personality  that  dominates  tlie 
facts  and  drives  them  at  his  bidding,  that  shows  real  power, 
has  direct  bearing  on  the  nature  and  the  solution  of  the  life- 
problem. 

c.  Beliefs 
Nor  can  you  overlook  the  hero's  beliefs,  whether  in  ethics 
or  religion,  in  politics,  in  the  laws  of  society.  In  the  analy- 
sis of  Mr.  Balfour,  on  page  148,  at  once  is  apparent  the  large 
influence  on  his  answer  that  is  caused  by  his  sophistication. 
The  bravery  of  the  Stoic,  the  voluptuous  sentimentality  of 
many  religious  people  of  modern  times,  vitally  affect  th 
nature  of  the  character  which  possesses  them.  If  your  hero 
is  by  nature  an  aristocrat,  if  his  sympathies  are  limited  to 
the  few  choice  people  of  the  world,  his  life-problem  is  radi- 
cally different  from  that  of  the  natural  democrat  like  Abra- 
ham Lincoln.  Finally,  whatever  ideas  he  may  hold  about 
the  relation  in  society  of  man  to  man,  of  man  to  woman,  will 
inevitably  influence  his  solution  of  his  particular  question, 


274  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

just  as  his  beliefs  are  themselves  partly  determined  by  his 
physical  being. 

d.  Friends 
Closely  allied  with  his  beliefs  will  be  his  choice  of  friends. 
Has  he  the  gift  of  familiarity,  or  does  he  struggle  in  vain  to 
break  through  the  bars  of  personality,  or  is  he  terrified  at  the 
gulf  between  himself  and  another?  Does  he  regard  friends 
as  useful  instruments,  as  pleasant  companions,  or  as  objects 
of  devoted  affection?  And  how  do  his  friends  react  to  him? 
It  is  worth  remembering  that  the  boy  Tennyson  wrote,  in 
grief,  "Byron  is  dead!"  —  not  only  the  boy  but  the  older 
poet  is  illuminated  by  the  words.  Stephen  A.  Douglas 
holding  Lincoln's  hat  beside  the  platform  while  the  Gettys- 
burg Address  was  being  delivered  showed  not  only  the  mel- 
lowness of  his  own  nature  but  the  commanding  power  of 
friendship  that  Lincoln  possessed.  The  number  of  friends 
and  the  range  of  their  activity  —  whether  selected  from  all 
sections  of  human  activity  or  from  the  hero's  own  more  lim- 
ited field  —  are  important. 

'  e.  Deeds 

Finally,  the  deeds  of  the  hero  are  of  the  greatest  signifi- 
cance in  indicating  how  he  met  his  life-problem.  Did  he 
"greet  the  unknown  with  a  cheer"  or  did  he  like  a  doubtful 
bather  shrink  back  from  plunging  into  the  stream  of  activ- 
ity? Were  his  deeds  actuated  by  generous  motives,  or  by 
petty?  "If,"  says  Stevenson,  "it  is  for  fame  that  men  do 
brave  actions,  they  are  only  silly  fellows  after  all."  Mac- 
beth strode  through  large  events,  as  did  Robert  E.  Lee,  yet 
the  dominating  motives  were  quite  different,  and  these  mo- 
tives throw  the  utmost  light  on  the  fundamentals  of  char- 
acter. 

Before  you  write,  then,  first  define  your  hero,  find  his  type 
and  his  individuality,  and  then  analyze  his  character  to  de- 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  275 

termine  his  descent,  his  intellectual  interests,  his  beliefs,  his 
friends,  and  his  deeds.  And  remember  that  these  are  not 
in  water-tight  compartments,  separated  from  each  other, 
but  that  they  fuse  together  to  make  the  personality,  to  cre- 
ate the  life-problem,  and  to  answer  it. 

The  Use  of  Events  in  the  Life 

Dramatic  biography  is  almost  wholly  the  moving  events 
of  life.  The  evil  of  cheap  fiction  is  partly  that  it  will  be 
nothing  but  events,  that  only  dust  will  be  raised,  no  meaning 
found.  Expository  biography  may  err  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion and  exclude  the  "moving  show,"  become  only  abstract 
analysis  and  definition.  You  must  guard  against  this,  be- 
cause absence  of  events  both  complicates  the  writer's  task 
and  makes  his  success  with  the  reader  more  problematic. 
Moreover,  since  so  largely  the  positive  personality  of  the 
hero  will  express  itself  in  action,  since  largely  through  events 
we  shall  discover  what  the  life-problem  is  and  especially  how 
it  is  met,  to  omit  the  flow  of  events  is  to  lame  the  interpreta- 
tion. All  readers,  it  is  well  to  remember,  have  the  child's 
desire  for  more  than  mere  information  about  the  machine; 
they  wish  to  "see  it  go."  The  vitality  of  fiction  is  always 
increased  by  dramatic  presentation.  Since  you  have  a  real 
character  to  make  vital,  bring  to  your  writing  the  devices 
that  make  characters  real.  Carlyle  ^  well  characterizes  the 
denatured  style  of  treating  living  beings : 

Those  modern  Narrations,  of  the  Philosophic  kind,  where  "Phi- 
losophy, teaching  by  Experience,"  has  to  sit  like  owl  on  housetop, 
seeing  nothing,  understanding  nothing,  uttering  only,  with  solem- 
nity enough,  her  perpetual  and  most  wearisome  hoo-hoo:  —  what 
hope  have  we,  except  the  for  the  most  part  fallacious  one  of  gain- 
ing some  acquaintance  with  our  fellow-creatures,  though  dead  and 

•  Thomas  Carlyle:''" Biography,"  in  Critical  and  Miscellaneou3  Essays.  Houghton  MifiBin 
Company,  Boston,  publishers. 


276  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

vanished,  yet  dear  to  us;  how  they  got  along  in  those  old  days, 
suffering  and  domg;  to  what  extent,  and  under  what  circumstances, 
they  resisted  the  Devil  and  triumphed  over  hun,  or  struck  their 
colors  to  him,  and  were  trodden  under  foot  by  him;  how,  in  short, 
the  perennial  Battle  went,  which  men  name  Life,  which  we  also  in 
these  new  days,  with  mdifferent  fortune  have  to  fight,  and  must 
bequeath  to  our  sons  and  grandsons  to  go  on  fighting.  .  .  . 

a.  Choice  of  Events 
The  question  at  once  arises,  what  events  shall  the  writer 
select?  The  total  course  is  mapped  for  you:  there  is  the 
pedigree,  there  the  birth,  and  fiinally  there  the  funeral.  These 
are  inescapable.  Just  so,  for  most  heroes,  marriage.  But 
to  choose  only  those  facts  that  are  common  to  all,  to  make 
your  hero  do  only  the  conventionally  unavoidable  things, 
will  leave  him  without  personality.  The  question  is,  what 
did  he  do  that  was  peculiar  to  himself,  what  reaction  to  life 
did  he  alone,  of  all  the  myriads,  make,''  It  is  true  that  most 
men  and  women  spend  their  time  at  their  profession  or  ap- 
pointed task,  whatever  it  may  be,  but  what  the  reader  cries 
for  is  how  did  they  spend  their  time  and  energy?  It  is  not 
sufficient  that  you  tell  your  reader  that  Robert  Franz  la- 
bored at  his  profession  of  music.  What  you  must  do  is  to 
show  how,  in  poverty,  which,  but  for  the  inexhaustible  kind- 
ness of  Liszt,  would  have  been  unrelieved,  with  total  deaf- 
ness upon  him,  with  his  musician's-fingers  twisted  and  use- 
less with  paralysis,  and  with  only  slight  recognition  from  the 
world  for  his  efforts,  he  quite  beautifully  subordinated  his 
own  personality  for  the  sake  of  his  art  and  for  years  labored 
in  unremunerative  love  at  the  unwritten  harmonies  of  Bach 
and  Handel  that  the  public  might  have  complete  realiza- 
tion of  the  otherwise  crippled  productions.  When  you  tell 
that,  your  reader  will  understand  Robert  Franz,  not  merely  a 
somebody.  Choose,  then,  the  events  that  all  share  in  com- 
mon if  they  are  of  value  in  giving  a  framework  for  your  nar- 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  277 

rative  presentation,  but  especially  choose  those  events  that 
in  their  nature  illuminate  the  personality  and  complement 
vour  analysis. 

We  think  of  events  as  being  public.  There  is  also  the 
zero's  private  life.  Often,  especially  with  the  more  humble 
heroes,  the  home  life  is  more  important  than  the  public  deeds, 
brings  out  more  clearly  the  real  man  than  any  amount  of 
marching  in  the  market  place  or  discussing  in  the  public 
square.  The  incident  related  of  Robert  E.  Lee  when  he  was 
President  of  Washington  College  is  more  revealing,  almost, 
of  his  greatness  of  heart  than  a  far  more  important  deed  of 
the  great  General.  When  a  sophomore  to  whom  Lee  had 
recommended  more  intense  application  to  work,  with  the 
warning  of  possible  failure,  remarked,  "But,  General,  you 
failed,"  Lee  quietly  replied,  "I  hope  that  you  may  be  more 
fortunate  than  I."  To  neglect  either  public  or  private  life 
makes  the  biography  less  valuable;  light  upon  the  person- 
ality from  whatever  honest  source  is  to  be  eagerly  sought. 

b.  Relation  of  Events  to  Personality 
With  your  choice  made,  you  yet  face  the  difficulty  of  unit- 
ing events  and  personality.  It  is  not  that  you  have  parallel 
lines,  one  of  action  and  one  of  character;  the  two  lines  join 
and  become  one.  You  have  the  choice  of  observing  the 
personality  through  the  medium  of  events,  or  events  through 
the  medium  of  personality.  Of  the  two,  the  latter  is  to  be 
preferred.  To  understand  the  personality  we  need  to  know 
whether  it  controls  and  directs  events,  or  merely  receives 
them.  Into  every  life  a  large  measure  of  chance  enters. 
Does  the  personality  merely  receive  the  events,  or  does  it 
master  chance?  Suppose  that  the  following  analysis*  of 
two  widely  different  characters  is  correct,  just: 

Mozart  —  grace,  liberty,  certainty,  freedom,  and  precision  of 
style,  and  exquisite  and  aristocratic  beauty,  serenity  of  soul>  the 

*  Amiei's  Journal. 


278  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

health  and  talent  of  the  master,  both  on  a  level  with  his  genius; 
Beethoven  —  more  pathetic,  more  passionate,  more  torn  with  feel- 
ing, more  intricate,  more  profound,  less  perfect,  more  the  slave  of 
his  genius,  more  carried  away  by  his  fancy  or  his  passion,  more 
moving,  and  more  sublime  than  Mozart.  .  .  .  One  is  serene,  the 
other  serious.  .  .  .  The  first  is  stronger  than  destiny,  because  he 
takes  life  less  profoundly;  the  second  is  less  strong,  because  he  has 
dared  to  measure  himself  against  deeper  sorrows.  ...  In  Mozart 
the  balance  of  the  whole  is  perfect,  and  art  triumphs ;  in  Beethoven 
feeling  governs  everything  and  emotion  troubles  his  art  in  propor- 
tion as  it  deepens  it. 

Now  we  know  that  Mozart's  attitude  toward  patrons  was 
sweetly  deferential  and  graceful,  whereas  Beethoven  rushed 
into  the  courtyard  of  his  patron  Prince  Lobkowitz,  shouting, 
"Lobkowitz  donkey!  Lobkowitz  donkey!!"  and  when,  in 
the  company  of  Goethe,  he  once  met  an  archduke,  though 
Goethe  made  a  profound  bow  with  bared  head,  Beethoven 
reached  up,  jammed  his  hat  down  tighter  upon  his  head, 
and,  rigidly  erect,  stalked  by  without  recognition  of  rank. 
These  actions  of  Beethoven  are  emotionally  tempestuous. 
We  have  our  choice  of  interpreting  them  as  resulting  from  his 
personality  or  of  determining  his  personality  as  revealed  by 
the  deeds.  In  general  it  is  better  to  view  deeds  and  events  in 
the  light  of  personality. 

c.  Relation  to  Society  and  Times 
Events  happen  to  more  than  the  hero  alone;  he  is  a  mem- 
ber of  society.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  link  the  events  of 
his  life  to  the  current  of  his  times,  to  fit  him  into  the  back- 
ground against  which  his  life  was  played.  How  was  he 
affected,  what  influence  did  he  exert,  what  offices  or  posi- 
tions of  trust  did  he  hold?  Often,  of  course,  estimate  of  the 
personality  will  be  considerably  determined  by  his  relations 
with  his  contemporaries.  You  need  to  bear  two  cautions 
in  mind:  first,  not  to  misjudge  a  man  because  moral  or  social 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  279 

standards  have  shifted  since  his  times;  and  second,  not  to 
introduce  so  much  matter  about  his  relationships  as  to  ob- 
scure the  outhnes  of  his  personaUty  or  as  to  relegate  him  to 
less  than  the  chief  position.  Imaginative  sympathy  will  be 
suflScient  to  prevent  the  first.  If  you  really  look  through 
your  hero's  eyes  at  the  life  that  he  saw,  with  his  standards  in 
mind,  though  you  may  have  to  condemn  his  attitude  from  a 
more  modern  point  of  view,  you  will  be  able  to  see  that  his 
deeds  are  quite  comprehensible,  that  perhaps,  had  you  been 
in  his  place,  you  would  have  acted  likewise.  We  no  longer 
decorate  important  bridges  with  the  heads  of  criminals  set 
on  pikes,  as  our  ancestors  did,  nor  do  we  burn  supposed 
witches.  But  though  we  condemn  Edward  the  First  of 
England  for  the  one  and  the  Salem  Puritans  for  the  other, 
we  can  still  love  both  Edward  and  the  Puritans  —  if  we  have 
imaginative  sympathy.  The  second  caution  requires  simply 
that  you  make  your  hero  dominate  the  scene.  Now  this  is 
not  an  easy  task  when  you  are  reviewing  ,  in  many  pages,  the 
gorgeous  pageant  of  an  age.  We  can  easily  imagine  that  if 
Parr  had  written  the  Life  of  Johnson  which  he  said  would 
have  been  so  much  superior  to  that  by  Boswell,  and  had  in- 
cluded the  threatened  "view  of  the  literature  of  Europe," 
the  poor  old  hero  would  have  been  roughly  jostled  away 
behind  the  furniture.  Mr.  Barrett  Wendell  paid  Carlyle  a 
tribute  of  the  highest  kind  in  writing  of  his  Frederick  the 
Great  : 

Such  a  mass  of  living  facts  —  for  somehow  Carlyle  never  lets  a 
fact  lack  life  —  I  had  never  seen  flmig  together  before;  and  yet  the 
one  chief  impression  I  brought  away  from  the  book  was  that  to  a 
degree  rare  in  even  small  ones  it  possessed  as  a  whole  the  great  trait 
of  unity.  In  one's  memory,  each  fact  by  and  by  fell  into  its  own 
place;  the  chief  ones  stood  out;  the  lesser  sank  back  into  a  confused 
but  not  inextricable  mass  of  throbbing  vitality.  And  from  it  all 
emerged  more  and  more  clearly  the  one  central  figure  who  gave  his 
name  to  the  whole  —  Frederick  of  Prussia.     It  was  as  they  bore 


280  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

on  him  from  all  quarters  of  time  and  space,  and  as  he  reacted  oa 
them  far  and  wide,  that  all  these  events  and  all  these  people  were 
brought  back  out  of  their  dusty  graves  to  live  again. ^ 

Make  your  hero  stand  near  the  footlights,  then,  and 
take  care  that  he  be  not  in  the  shadows  of  the  wings. 

d.  Rhetorical  Value  of  Events 
From  a  purely  rhetorical  point  of  view  the  inclusion  of  the 
events  in  the  hero's  hfe  is  important  because  it  offers  a  useful 
structural  scheme  for  the  writing,  the  chronological  order. 
The  exact  succession  of  events  need  not  be  followed,  surely; 
sometimes  the  intended  effect  will  demand  a  reversal  of 
actual  order,  but  the  relation  in  time  will  be  foimd  valuable 
for  showing  the  growth  of  personality,  of  intellectual  grasp, 
of  influence  upon  the  world.  Do  not,  then,  neglect  the  ac- 
tive life  of  your  hero.  By  presenting  it  you  will  find  the 
task  of  composition  lightened,  you  will  help  to  establish  the 
personality,  and  you  will  give  to  the  writing  the  dramatic 
vitality  that  is  so  much  desired  by  the  reader. 

The  Problem  of  Telling  the  Truth 

However  imaginatively  sympathetic  you  may  be  in  inter- 
preting your  hero,  however  carefully  you  may  try  to  find  his 
life-problem,  and  however  well  you  may  attempt  to  define 
and  analyze  his  personality,  you  will  be  confronted  with  one 
almost  insuperable  problem  —  how  to  tell  the  truth.  In  no 
form  of  exposition  is  this  problem  more  difficult.  For  we 
are  more  moved  by  human  personality  than  by  any  thing  else, 
more  "drawn  to"  a  person  than  to  a  machine,  more  affected 
by  the  comparatively  parallel  problem  of  another  human 
being  than  by  the  inanimate  existence  of  wood  and  steel. 
Long  observation  and  study  of  our  heroes  seems  often  to 
make  us  even  less  fitted  to  estimate  their  worth,  for  we  reach 

'  Barrett.  Wendell:  English  Cnmpnxilion.    By  courtesy  of  the  puhllshera,  Charles  Seribner's 
Sons,  New  York  City.   Copyright,  181)1. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  281 

the  state  of  companionship  with  them  where  we  resent  any 
fact  that  does  not  tally  with  our  formed  judgment,  and  arc 
tempted  to  exclude  it.  Mr.  Gamaliel  IJradford  divides 
biographers  into  "those  who  think  they  are  impartial  and 
those  who  know  they  are  not."  Partiality  operates,  of 
course,  both  for  and  against  personalities.  To  quote  Mr. 
Bradford  again,  "Gardiner,  for  all  his  fairness,  obviously 
praises  the  Puritans  because  they  were  Puritans,  the  Cava- 
liers although  they  were  Cavaliers."  Adulation  and  dam- 
nation are  the  logical  extremes  which  result  from  a  too  oper- 
ative blind  spot  on  the  retina  of  judgment.  You  must 
remember  and  cling  to  the  fact  that  no  man  is  perfect  and 
no  man  wholly  bad.  Much  as  Boswell  loved  Johnson  he 
had  the  good  sense  to  write,  of  his  biography,  "And  he  will 
be  seen  as  he  really  was,  for  I  profess  to  write,  not  his 
I)anegyric,  which  must  be  all  praise,  but  his  Life;  which, 
great  and  good  as  he  was,  must  not  be  supposed  to  be  en- 
tirely perfect."  George  Washington  has  terribly  suffered 
in  the  estimates  of  later  times  because  of  the  desire  to  make 
him  perfect.  The  true  expository  biographer  will  conceal 
nothing  that  is  significant,  whether  he  wishes,  in  spite  of 
himself,  perhaps,  that  it  did  not  exist. 

The  best  cure  for  the  errors  of  falsity  from  over-love  or 
over-condemnation  is  still  sane  imaginative  sympathy. 
Stevenson  made  perhaps  the  greatest  personal  triumph  in 
his  portraiture  when  he  drew  Weir  of  Hermiston,  the  dour 
old  "hanging  judge"  who  so  outraged  by  his  life  all  the  au- 
thor's feelings  and  is  yet  so  presented  that  the  reader  loves 
him  despite  his  inhumanity,  realty  perceives  that  an  honest, 
even  if  tough,  heart  beat  in  his  breast.  Another  safeguard 
is  absence  of  desire  to  make  rhetorical  effect.  An  aureole 
is  picturesque,  horns  and  hoofs  add  piquancy;  the  hand 
itches  to  deck  the  hero  as  saint  or  to  fit  him  out  as  devil. 
But  you  must  subordinate  any  such  cheap  desire,  must  write 
with  the  restraint  that  comes  from  seeing  your  hero  steady 


282  EXPOSITORY  ^^TIITING 

and  seeing  him  whole.  Balance  is  the  golden  word.  "  This 
thing  is  true,"  wrote  Emerson,  "but  that  is  also  true."  The 
vulgarity  of  the  superlatives  of  political  campaigns  has  no 
place  in  your  pages. 

This  imaginatively  sympathetic  attitude  must  not  rely  on 
itself  alone,  but  must  employ  the  other  safeguard  against 
untruth,  must  passionately  pursue  facts,  and  facts,  and  still 
facts  to  make  the  conception  of  the  hero  complete  and  to 
give  the  writing  that  so  much  desired  quality  of  fullness. 
The  very  greatest  care  is  necessary  to  determine  what  facts 
are  true  and  what  are  fallacious.  You  are  largely  at  the 
mercy  of  your  second  or  third  or  tenth-hand  sources  when 
you  write  of  historical  characters.  AMien  your  hero  is  a 
living  person  you  must  challenge  the  report  of  your  own 
senses  and  general  experience  lest  you  admit  what  is  false 
or  omit  what  is  significant. 

The  Danger  of  Making  a  "  Lesson  " 

And  when  you  have  assembled  all  your  facts,  and  have 
determined  upon  your  interpretation  of  tlie  hero,  take  the 
greatest  caution  that  you  do  not  try  to  make  the  life  a  "les- 
son." Presumably  a  child  never  more  earnestly  desires  to 
commit  murder  than  when  some  little  Willie  or  Susie  has 
been  held  up  as  a  model.  If  Willie  and  Susie  escape  with 
only  kicked  shins,  they  may  count  luck  benevolent.  Your 
duty  is  to  understand  and  love,  not  to  preach  about  the 
character.  You  are  to  give  us  an  estimate  of  the  great  ad- 
venture of  this  person  through  life,  and  leave  to  us  to  make 
the  moral,  if  any  is  to  be  made.  If  the  life  has  a  message, 
the  reader  will  catch  it;  if  it  has  not,  silence  is  virtuous. 

The  Rhetorical  Form 

Finally,  the  rhetorical  problem  of  forming  your  material 
presents  itself.    First  of  all  do  not  forget  that  all  the  charms 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  283 

of  style  of  which  you  are  capable  should  be  summoned  to 
your  aid.  Since  you  deal  with  the  fascinating  subject  of 
human  personality  your  writing  should  not  be  dull.  All  too 
many  biographical  essaj^s  begin  stupidly.  When  a  first 
sentence  reads,  "  Augustine  was  born  at  Tagaste,  near  Car- 
thage (about  forty  miles  south  of  it),  North  Africa,  Novem- 
ber 13,  A.D.  354,  seven  years  after  the  birth  of  Chrysostom," 
a  reader  hardly  finds  a  warmly  inviting  gleam  in  the  writer's 
eye;  he  continues  to  read  only  if  he  brought  determination 
with  him.  But  when  Mr.  Charles  Whibley  begins,  of  Cap- 
tain Hind,  "James  Hind,  the  Master  Thief  of  England,  the 
fearless  Captain  of  the  Highway,  was  born  at  Chipping  Nor- 
ton in  1618";  or  of  Haggart,  "David  Haggart  was  born  at 
Canonmills,  with  no  richer  birthright  than  thievish  fingers 
and  a  left  hand  of  surpassing  activity";  or  of  Sir  Thomas 
Ovcrbury,  "Thomas  Overbury,  whose  haggard  ghost  still 
walks  in  the  secret  places  of  the  Tower,  was  born  a  squire's 
son,  in  1581,"  —  when  he  uses  such  sentences  to  introduce 
the  hero  to  the  reader,  the  ejaculatory  "Eh?"  takes  voice 
and  the  reader  canters  down  the  new  delightful  lane  where 
a  finger  beckons.  Whether  you  use  anecdote,  or  quotation, 
or  important  fact,  or  statement  of  birth,  or  description,  let 
your  beginning  invite  and  not  dismay. 

The  chief  structural  problem  is,  without  doubt,  to  fuse 
the  analyzed  elements  of  deeds  and  friends  and  interests  and 
others  into  one  organic  whole.  If  you  use  the  chronological 
sequence  of  events,  which  has  already  been  discussed,  show- 
ing how  each  event  or  group  of  events  indicates  the  charac- 
ter, you  will  have  an  easily  followed  plan.  Such  a  plan,  or 
that  of  treating  the  whole  life  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
central,  controlling  motive,  is  the  ideal  method.  If  you 
choose  to  unify  the  whole  by  showing  how  events,  friends, 
interests  of  various  kinds,  and  the  other  manifestations  of 
the  hero's  life  all  establish  the  central  motive,  you  will  have 
a  more  diflScult,  though  more  elastic  form.     With  this  plan 


284  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

you  can  distribute  the  details  in  the  points  where  they  will  be 
of  most  value,  can,  for  example,  indicate  a  change  in  the 
hero's  nature  by  approaching  through  an  event,  a  friendship, 
a  turning  of  tastes  in  reading  or  in  general  interests.  The 
difficulty  here  lies  in  the  tendency  toward  such  dispersion  of 
details  as  to  destroy  unity  even  though  to  gain  this  is  the 
chief  intention.  In  the  face  of  this  difficulty  you  may  use 
a  third  method,  which  is  likely  to  be  less  pleasing,  less  ar- 
tistic, but  more  easily  applied.  You  can  divide  your  ma- 
terial under  the  headings  "events,"  "friends,"  "heredity," 
"interests,"  and  then  can  treat  each  group,  by  itself,  from 
the  central  point  of  view.  This  is  a  useful  method,  and  in 
complicated  lives  it  is  sometimes  the  only  method  that  is 
reasonably  easy  to  handle.  Closely  similar  to  this  method 
is  that  of  dividing  your  material  under  the  headings  of  the 
ways  in  which  your  hero  affected  his  times,  the  ways  in 
which  he  was  known.  Thus  you  might  treat  of  the  reputa- 
tion as  converser,  as  organizer,  as  literary  man,  as  public 
servant,  as  friend  of  the  poor,  or  whatever  heading  your 
hero's  life  affords. 

Whatever  method  you  may  employ,  you  should  remember 
that  a  human  life  does  not  appear  in  separate,  distinct 
phases,  that  a  man  does  not  seem  to  be  now  this,  now 
that,  but  rather  all  details,  of  whatever  nature,  mingle  and 
fuse  into  a  unit,  however  complicated  it  may  be.  You  should 
attempt,  then,  to  make  one  main  thread,  of  however  many 
colors  it  may  be  woven,  rather  than  a  series  of  parallel 
threads.  Note  how  Thackeray  neatly  unites  various  phases 
and  forms  of  interest  in  Goldsmith's  life,  ^  so  neatly  that  as 
you  casually  read  you  are  not  aware  of  the  diversity  of  mate- 
rial —  though  it  is  there  —  but  think  rather  of  the  total  effect. 

If,  then,  you  assume  the  attitude  of  imaginative  sympathy, 
and  study  your  hero  until  you  know  what  his  particular  life- 
problem  was,  what  his  type  and  what  his  individuality,  and 

'  At  the  cnJ  of  the  chapter. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  285 

with  love  and  yet  restraint  make  your  estimate,  aiming  at 
truth  to  character  and  to  facts  of  his  hfe,  you  will  produce 
writing  that  will  be  more  than  a  mere  scholar's  document, 
writing  that  will  warm  the  heart  of  your  reader  to  a  new 
personality  and  will  be  a  friend  of  a  winter  evening  fireside. 

olivt:r  goldsmith  » 

"  Jete  sur  cette  boule, 
Laid,  chetif  et  souffrant; 
EtoufFe,  dans  la  foule, 
Faute  d'etre  assez  grand; 

"  Una  plainte  touchante 
De  ma  bouche  sortit. 
Le  bon  Dieu  me  dit:  Chante, 
Chante,  pauvre  petit. 

"Chanter,  ou  je  m'abuse. 
Est  ma  tache  ici-bas. 
Tous  ceux  qu'ainsi  j 'amuse, 
Ne  m'aimeront-ils  pas?" 

In  these  charming  lines  of  Beranger,^  one  may  fancy  described  the 
career,  the  suffering,  the  genius,  the  gentle  nature  of  Goldsmith,  and 
the  esteem  in  which  we  hold  him.  Who  of  the  millions  whom  he  has 
amused  does  n't  love  him.?  To  be  the  most  beloved  of  English 
writers,  what  a  title  that  is  for  a  man!  A  wild  youth,  wayward, 
but  full  of  tenderness  and  affection,  quits  the  country  village  where 
his  boyhood  has  been  passed  in  happy  musing,  in  idle  shelter,  in 
fond  longing  to  see  the  great  world  out  of  doors,  and  achieve  fame 
and  fortune;  and  after  years  of  dire  struggle  and  neglect  and  pov- 
erty, his  heart  turning  back  as  fondly  to  his  native  place  as  it  had 
longed  eagerly  for  change  when  sheltered  there,  he  writes  a  book 
and  a  poem,  full  of  the  recollections  and  feelings  of  home;  he  paints 
the  friends  and  scenes  of  his  youth,  and  peoples  Auburn  and  Wake- 
field with  remembrances  of  Lissoy.  Wander  he  must,  but  he  car- 
ries away  a  home-relic  with  him,  and  dies  with  it  on  his  breast. 
His  nature  is  truant;  in  repose  it  longs  for  change,  —  as  on  the 

1  William  Makepeace  Thackeray:  The  English  Uumorista  of  the  Eiyhleenth  Century.  Hough- 
ton Mifflin  Company,  Boston,  publishers. 
*  For  traoslatiuD,  see  page  296. 


286  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

journey  it  looks  back  for  friends  and  quiet.  He  passes  to-day  In 
building  an  air-castle  for  to-morrow,  or  in  writing  yesterday's 
elegy;  and  he  would  fly  away  this  hour,  but  that  a  cage  and 
necessity  keep  him.  What  is  the  charm  of  his  verse,  of  his  style 
and  humor?  —  his  sweet  regrets,  his  delicate  compassion,  his  soft 
smile,  his  tremulous  sympathy,  the  weakness  which  he  owns?  Your 
love  for  him  is  half  pity.  You  come  hot  and  tired  from  the  day's 
battle,  and  this  sweet  minstrel  sings  to  you.  Who  could  harm  the 
kind  vagrant  harper?  Whom  did  he  ever  hurt?  He  carries  no 
weapon  save  the  harp  on  which  he  plays  to  you  and  with  which 
he  delights  great  and  humble,  young  and  old,  the  captains  in  the 
tents  or  the  soldiers  round  the  fire,  or  the  women  and  children  in  the 
villages,  at  whose  porches  he  stops  and  sings  his  simple  songs  of 
love  and  beauty.  With  that  sweet  story  of  "The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field" he  has  found  entry  into  every  castle  and  hamlet  in  Europe. 
Not  one  of  us,  however  busy  or  hard,  but  once  or  twice  in  our  lives 
has  passed  an  evening  with  him,  and  undergone  the  charm  of  his 
delightful  music. 

Goldsmith's  father  was  no  doubt  the  good  Doctor  Primrose, 
whom  we  all  of  us  know.  Swift  was  yet  alive,  when  the  little 
Oliver  was  born  at  Pallas,  or  Pallasmore,  in  the  covmty  of  Longford, 
in  Ireland.  In  1730,  two  years  after  the  child's  birth,  Charles 
Goldsmith  removed  his  family  to  Lissoy,  in  the  county  Westmeath, 
that  sweet  "Auburn"  which  every  person  who  hears  me  has  seen 
in  fancy.  Here  the  kind  parson  brought  up  his  eight  children; 
and  loving  all  the  world,  as  his  son  says,  fancied  all  the  world  loved 
him.  He  had  a  crowd  of  poor  dependants  besides  those  hungry 
children.  He  kept  an  open  table,  round  which  sat  flatterers  and 
poor  friends,  who  laughed  at  the  honest  rector's  many  jokes,  and 
ate  the  produce  of  his  seventy  acres  of  farm.  Those  who  have  seen 
an  Irish  house  in  the  present  day  can  fancy  that  one  at  Lissoy.  The 
old  beggar  still  has  his  allotted  corner  by  the  kitchen  turf;  the 
maimed  old  soldier  still  gets  his  potatoes  and  buttermilk;  the  poor 
cottier  still  asks  his  honor's  charity  and  prays  God  bless  his  rever- 
ence for  the  sixpence;  the  ragged  pensioner  still  takes  his  place  by 
right  of  STifferance.  There's  still  a  crowd  in  the  kitchen,  and  a 
crowd  round  the  parlor  table;  profusion,  confusion,  kindness, 
poverty.     If  an  Irishman  comes  to  London  to  make  his  fortune. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  287 

he  has  a  half-dozen  of  Irisli  dependants  who  take  a  percentage  of 
his  earnings.  The  good  Charles  Goldsmith  left  but  little  provision 
for  his  hungry  race  when  death  summoned  him;  and  one  of  his 
daughters  being  engaged  to  a  Squire  of  rather  superior  dignity, 
Charles  Goldsmith  impoverished  the  rest  of  his  family  to  provide 
the  girl  with  a  dowry. 

The  small-pox,  which  scourged  all  Europe  at  that  time,  and 
ravaged  the  roses  off  the  cheeks  of  half  the  world,  fell  foul  of  poor 
little  Oliver's  face  when  the  child  was  eight  years  old,  and  left  him 
scarred  and  disfigured  for  his  life.  An  old  woman  in  his  father's 
village  taught  him  his  letters,  and  pronounced  him  a  dunce. 
Paddy  Byrne,  the  hedge-schoolmaster,  then  took  him  in  hand; 
and  from  Paddy  Byrne  he  was  transmitted  to  a  clergyman  at 
Elphin.  When  a  child  was  sent  to  school,  in  those  days,  the  classic 
phrase  was  that  he  was  placed  under  Mr.  So-and-Sio's  ferule.  Poor 
little  ancestors !  it  is  hard  to  think  how  ruthlessly  you  were  birched, 
and  how  much  of  needless  whipping  and  tears  our  small  forefathers 
had  to  undergo!  A  relative  —  kind  Uncle  Contarine  —  took  the 
main  charge  of  little  Noli;  who  went  through  his  school-days 
righteously  doing  as  little  work  as  he  could,  robbing  orchards,  play- 
ing at  ball,  and  making  his  pocket-money  fly  about  whenever  for- 
tune sent  it  to  him.  Everybody  knows  the  story  of  that  famous 
"Mistake  of  a  Night,"  when  the  young  schoolboy,  provided  with  a 
guinea  and  a  nag,  rode  up  to  the  "best  house"  in  Ardagh,  called  for 
the  landlord's  company  over  a  bottle  of  wine  at  supper,  and  for  a 
hot  cake  for  breakfast  in  the  morning,  —  and  found,  when  he  asked 
for  the  bill,  that  the  best  house  was  Squire  Featherstone's,  and  not 
the  inn  for  which  he  mistook  it.  Who  does  not  know  every  story 
about  Goldsmith?  That  is  a  delightful  and  fantastic  picture  of  the 
child  dancing  and  capering  about  in  the  kitchen  at  home,  when  the 
old  fiddler  gibed  at  him  for  his  ugliness,  and  called  him  ^sop;  and 
little  Noll  made  his  repartee  of :  — 

"Heralds  proclaim  aJoud  this  saying: 
See  ^sop  dancing  and  his  monkey  playing." 

One  can  fancy  a  queer,  pitiful  look  of  humor  and  appeal  upon 
that  little  scarred  face,  the  fminy  little  dancing  figure,  the  funny 
httle  brogue.    In  his  life  and  writings,  which  are  the  honest  expres- 


288  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

sion  of  it,  he  is  constantly  bewailing  that  homely  face  and  person; 
anon  he  surveys  them  in  the  glass  ruefully,  and  presently  assumes 
the  most  comical  dignity.  He  likes  to  deck  out  his  little  person  in 
splendor  and  fine  colors.  He  presented  himself  to  be  examined  for 
ordination  in  a  pair  of  scarlet  breeches,  and  said  honestly  that  he 
did  not  like  to  go  into  the  Church  because  he  was  fond  of  colored 
clothes.  When  he  tried  to  practise  as  a  doctor,  he  got  by  hook  or 
by  crook  a  black  velvet  suit,  and  looked  as  big  and  as  grand  as  he 
could,  and  kept  his  hat  over  a  patch  on  the  old  coat.  In  better 
days  he  bloomed  out  in  plum-color,  in  blue  silk,  and  in  new  velvet. 
For  some  of  those  splendors  the  heirs  and  assignees  of  Mr.  Filby ,  the 
tailor,  have  never  been  paid  to  this  day ;  perhaps  the  kind  tailor  and 
his  creditor  have  met  and  settled  their  little  account  in  Hades. 

They  showed  until  lately  a  window  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
on  which  the  name  of  0.  Goldsmith  was  engraved  with  a  diamond. 
Whose  diamond  was  it?  Not  the  young  sizar's,  who  made  but  a 
poor  figure  in  that  place  of  learning.  He  was  idle,  penniless,  and 
fond  of  pleasure;  he  learned  his  way  early  to  the  pawn-broker's 
shop.  He  wrote  ballads,  they  say,  for  the  street-singers,  who  paid 
him  a  crown  for  his  poem;  and  his  pleasure  was  to  steal  out  at  night 
and  hear  the  verses  sung.  He  was  chastised  by  his  tutor  for  giving 
a  dance  in  his  rooms,  and  took  the  box  on  the  ear  so  much  to  heart 
that  he  packed  up  his  all,  pawned  his  books  and  little  property,  and 
disappeared  from  college  and  family.  He  said  he  intended  to  go 
to  America;  but  when  his  money  was  spent,  the  young  prodigal 
came  home  ruefully,  and  the  good  folks  there  killed  their  calf  (it 
was  but  a  lean  one)  and  welcomed  him  back. 

After  college  he  hung  about  his  mother's  house,  and  lived  for  some 
years  the  life  of  a  buckeen,  —  passed  a  month  with  this  relation 
and  that,  a  year  with  one  patron,  and  a  great  deal  of  time  at  the 
public-house.  Tired  of  this  life,  it  was  resolved  that  he  should  go  to 
London,  and  study  at  the  Temple;  but  he  got  no  farther  on  the  road 
to  London  and  the  woolsack  than  Dublin,  where  he  gambled  away 
tlie  fifty  pounds  given  him  for  his  outfit,  and  whence  he  returned 
to  the  indefatigable  forgiveness  of  home.  Then  he  determined  to 
be  a  doctor,  and  Uncle  Contarine  helped  him  to  a  couple  of  years 
at  Edinburgh.  Then  from  Edinburgh  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  hear 
the  famous  professors  of  Leydeu  aiid  Paris,  and  wrote  most  amus- 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  289 

ing  pompous  letters  to  his  uncle  about  the  great  Farheim,  Du  Petit, 
and  Duhamel  du  Monceau,  whose  lectures  he  proposed  to  follow. 
If  Uncle  Contarine  believed  those  letters;  if  Oliver's  mother  be- 
lieved that  story  which  the  youth  related,  of  his  going  to  Cork 
with  the  purpose  of  embarking  for  America,  of  his  having  paid 
his  passenger  money  and  having  sent  his  kit  on  board,  of  the  anony- 
mous captain  sailing  away  with  Oliver's  valuable  luggage  in  a 
nameless  ship,  never  to  return,  —  if  Uncle  Contarine  and  the  mother 
at  Ballymahon  believed  his  stories,  they  must  have  been  a  very 
simple  pair,  as  it  was  a  very  simple  rogue  indeed  who  cheated 
them.  When  the  lad,  after  failing  in  his  clerical  examinations,  after 
failing  in  his  plan  for  studying  the  law,  took  leave  of  these  projects 
and  of  his  parents  and  set  out  for  Edinburgh,  he  saw  mother  and. 
uncle,  and  lazy  Ballymahon,  and  green  native  turf  and  sparkling 
river  for  the  last  time.  He  was  never  to  look  on  Old  Ireland  more, 
and  only  in  fancy  revisit  her. 

"But  me  not  destined  such  delights  to  share. 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care. 
Impelled,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good  that  mocks  me  with  the  view 
That  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies; 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone. 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own." 

I  spoke  in  a  former  lecture  of  that  high  courage  which  enabled 
Fielding,  in  spite  of  disease,  remorse,  and  poverty,  always  to  retain 
a  cheerful  spirit  and  to  keep  his  manly  benevolence  and  love  of 
truth  intact,  —  as  if  these  treasures  had  been  confided  to  him  for 
the  public  benefit,  and  he  was  accountable  to  posterity  for  their 
honorable  emplloy;  and  a  constancy  equally  happy  and  admirable 
I  think  was  shown  by  Goldsmith,  whose  sweet  and  friendly  nature 
bloomed  kindly  always  in  the  midst  of  a  life's  storm  and  rain  and 
bitter  weather.  The  poor  fellow  was  never  so  friendless  but  he 
could  befriend  some  one;  never  so  pinched  and  wretched  but  he 
could  give  of  his  crust,  and  speak  his  word  of  compassion.  If  he  had 
but  his  flute  left,  he  could  give  that,  and  make  the  children  happy 
in  the  dreary  London  court.  He  could  give  the  coals  in  that  queer 
coal-scuttle  we  read  of  to  his  neighbor;  he  could  give  away  his 


290  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

blankets  in  college  to  the  poor  widow,  and  warm  himself  as  he  best 
might  in  the  feathers;  he  could  pawn  his  coat,  to  s^ve  his  landlord 
from  jail.  When  he  was  a  school-usher  he  spent  his  earnings  in 
treats  for  the  boys,  and  the  good-natured  schoolmaster's  wife  said 
justly  that  she  ought  to  keep  Mr.  Goldsmith's  money  as  well  as  the 
young  gentlemen's.  When  he  met  his  pupils  in  later  life,  nothing 
would  satisfy  the  Doctor  but  he  must  treat  them  still.  "Have  you 
seen  the  print  of  me  after  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.'' "  he  asked  of  one  of 
his  old  pupils.  "Not  seen  it!  Not  bought  it!  Sure,  Jack,  if  your 
picture  had  been  published,  I'd  not  have  been  without  it  half-an- 
hour."  His  purse  and  his  heart  were  everybody's,  and  his  friend's 
as  much  as  his  own.  When  he  was  at  the  height  of  his  reputation, 
and  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  going  as  Lord  Lieutenant  to  Ire- 
land, asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  service  to  Doctor  Goldsmith,  Gold- 
smith recommended  his  brother  and  not  himself  to  the  great  man. 
"My  patrons,"  he  gallantly  said,  "are  the  booksellers,  and  I  want 
no  others."  Hard  patrons  they  were,  and  hard  work  he  did;  but 
he  did  not  complain  much.  If  in  his  early  writings  some  bitter 
words  escaped  him,  some  allusions  to  neglect  and  poverty,  he  with- 
drew these  expressions  when  his  Works  were  republished,  and  bet- 
ter days  seemed  to  open  for  him;  and  he  did  not  dare  to  complain 
that  printer  and  publisher  had  overlooked  his  merit  or  left  him 
poor.  The  Court's  face  was  turned  from  honest  Oliver;  the  Court 
patronized  Beattie.  The  fashion  did  not  shine  on  him;  fashion 
adored  Sterne;  fashion  pronounced  Kelly  to  be  the  great  writer  of 
comedy  of  his  day.  A  little  —  not  ill-humor  —  but  plaintiveness 
—  a  little  betrayal  of  wounded  pride  which  he  showed  renders  him 
not  the  less  amiable.  The  author  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  had  a 
right  to  protest  when  Newbery  kept  back  the  manuscript  for  two 
years;  had  a  right  to  be  a  little  peevish  with  Sterne,  — a  little 
angry  when  Colman's  actors  declined  their  parts  in  his  delightful 
comedy,  when  the  manager  refused  to  have  a  scene  painted  for 
it  and  pronounced  its  damnation  before  hearing.  He  had  not  the 
great  public  with  him;  but  he  had  the  noble  Johnson  and  the  ad- 
mirable Reynolds  and  the  great  Gibbon  and  the  great  Burke  and 
the  great  Fox,  —  friends  and  admirers  illustrious  indeed,  as  fa- 
mous as  those  who,  fifty  years  before,  sat  round  Pope's  table. 
Nobody  knows,  and  I  dare  say  Goldsmith's  buoyant  temper  kept 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  291 

no  account  of,  all  the  pains  which  he  endured  during  the  early 
period  of  his  literary  career.  Should  any  man  of  letters  in  our  day 
have  to  bear  up  against  such,  Heaven  grant  he  may  come  out  of  the 
period  of  misfortune  with  such  a  pure,  kind  heart  as  that  which 
Goldsmith  obstinately  bore  in  his  breast!  The  insults  to  which  he 
had  to  submit  were  shocking  to  read  of,  —  slander,  contumely, 
vulgar  satire,  brutal  malignity,  perverting  his  commonest  motives 
and  actions.  He  had  his  share  of  these;  and  one's  anger  is  roused 
at  reading  of  them,  as  it  is  at  seeing  a  woman  insulted  or  a  child 
assaulted,  at  the  notion  that  a  creature  so  very  gentle  and  weak, 
and  full  of  love,  should  have  to  suffer  so.  And  he  had  worse  than 
insult  to  undergo,  —  to  own  to  fault,  and  deprecate  the  anger  of 
ruffians.  There  is  a  letter  of  his  extant  to  one  Griffiths,  a  bookseller, 
in  which  poor  Goldsmith  is  forced  to  confess  that  certain  books  sent 
by  Griffiths  are  in  the  hands  of  a  friend  from  whom  Goldsmith  had 
been  forced  to  borrow  money.  "He  was  wild,  sir,"  Johnson  said, 
speaking  of  Goldsmith  to  Boswell,  with  his  great,  wise  benevolence 
and  noble  mercifulness  of  heart,  —  "Dr.  Goldsmith  was  wild,  sir; 
but  he  is  no  more."  Ah!  if  we  pity  the  good  and  weak  man  who 
suffers  undeservedly,  let  us  deal  very  gently  with  him  from  whom 
misery  extorts  not  only  tears  but  shame;  let  us  think  humbly  and 
charitably  of  the  human  nature  that  suffers  so  sadly  and  falls  so 
low.  Whose  turn  may  it  be  to-morrow?  What  weak  heart,  con- 
fident before  trial,  may  not  succumb  under  temptation  invincible? 
Cover  the  good  man  who  has  been  vanquished,  —  cover  his  face 
and  pass  on. 

For  the  last  half-dozen  years  of  his  life  Goldsmith  was  far  re- 
moved from  the  pressure  of  any  ignoble  necessity,  and  in  the  receipt, 
indeed,  of  a  pretty  large  income  from  the  booksellers,  his  patrons. 
Had  he  lived  but  a  few  years  more,  his  public  fame  would  have  been 
as  great  as  his  private  reputation,  and  he  might  have  enjoyed  alive 
part  of  that  esteem  which  his  country  has  ever  since  paid  to  the 
vivid  and  versatile  genius  who  has  touched  on  almost  every  subject 
of  literature,  and  touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  adorn.  Except 
in  rare  instances,  a  man  is  known  in  our  profession  and  esteemed 
as  a  skilful  workman  years  before  the  lucky  hit  which  trebles  his 
usual  gains,  and  stamps  him  a  popular  author.  In  the  strength 
of  his  age  and  the  dawn  of  his  reputation,  having  for  backers  and 


292  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

friends  the  most  illustrious  literary  men  of  his  time,  fame  and 
prosperity  might  have  been  in  store  for  Goldsmith  had  fate  so 
willed  it,  and  at  forty-six  had  not  sudden  disease  taken  him  off.  I 
say  prosperity  rather  than  competence;  for  it  is  probable  that  no 
sum  could  have  put  order  into  his  affairs,  or  sufficed  for  his  irre- 
claimable habits  of  dissipation.  It  must  be  remembered  that  he 
owed  £2000  when  he  died.  "Was  ever  poet,"  Johnson  asked, 
"so  trusted  before?"  As  has  been  the  case  with  many  another 
good  fellow  of  his  nation,  his  life  was  tracked  and  his  substance 
wasted  by  crowds  of  hungry  beggars  and  lazy  dependents.  If 
they  came  at  a  lucky  time  (and  be  sure  they  knew  his  affairs  better 
than  he  did  himself,  and  watched  his  pay-day),  he  gave  them  of  his 
money;  if  they  begged  on  empty-purse  day,  he  gave  them  his 
promissory  bills,  or  he  treated  them  to  a  tavern  where  he  had  credit, 
or  he  obliged  them  with  an  order  upon  honest  Mr.  Filby  for  coats, — 
for  which  he  paid  as  long  as  he  could  earn,  and  until  the  shears  of 
Filby  were  to  cut  for  him  no  more.  Staggering  under  a  load  of 
debt  and  labor;  tracked  by  bailiffs  and  reproachful  creditors;  run- 
ning from  a  hundred  poor  dependents,  whose  appealing  looks  were 
perhaps  the  hardest  of  all  pains  for  him  to  bear;  devising  fevered 
plans  for  the  morrow,  new  histories,  new  comedi<'s,  all  sorts  of  new 
liteiary  schemes;  flying  from  all  these  into  seclusion,  and  out  of 
seclusion  into  pleasure,  —  at  last,  at  five-and-forty  death  seized 
him  .and  closed  his  career. 

The  younger  Colman  has  left  a  touching  reminiscence  of  him : 
**I  wasfiiuiy  five  years  old,"  he  says,  "when  Goldsmith  took  me 
on  his  knee  one  evening  whilst  he  was  drinking  coffee  with  my 
father,, and  began  to  play  with  me,  —  which  amiable  act  I  returned, 
with  the  .ingratitude  of  a  peevish  brat,  by  giving  him  a  very  smart 
slap  on  the  lace:  it  must  have  been  a  tingler,  for  it  left  the  marks  of 
my  spiteful  paw  on  his  cheek.  This  infantile  outrage  was  followed 
Ijy  summary  justice,  and  I  was  locked  up  by  my  indignant  father 
in  an.adjoining  roo,m  tomndergo  solitary  imprisonment  in  the  dark. 
Mere  I, began ao  howl  and  scream  most  abominably,  which  was  no 
ibad  step  toward  my  liberation,  since  those  who  were  not  inclined 
to  pity  me  ijiight.hfi  jikely  to  set  me  free  for  the  purpose  of  abating  a 
iD^uig^n?^. 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  293 

**At  length  a  generous  friend  appeared  to  extricate  me  from 
jeopardy;  and  that  generous  friend  was  no  other  than  the  man  I 
had  so  wantonly  molested  by  assault  and  battery.  It  was  the 
tender-hearted  Doctor  himself,  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand 
aad  a  smile  upon  his  countenance,  which  was  still  partially  red 
from  the  effects  of  my  petulance.  I  sulked  and  sobbed  as  he  fondled 
and  soothed,  till  I  began  to  brighten.  Goldsmith  seized  the  pro- 
pitious moment  of  returning  good-humor,  when  he  put  down  the 
candle  and  began  to  conjure.  He  placed  three  hats,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  room,  and  a  shilling  under  each:  the  shillings,  he 
told  me,  were  England,  France,  and  Spain.  'Hey,  presto  cocka- 
lorum!' cried  the  Doctor;  and  lo,  on  uncovering  the  shillings,  which 
had  been  dispersed  each  beneath  a  separate  hat,  they  were  all 
found  congregated  under  one!  I  was  no  politician  at  five  years 
old,  and  therefore  might  not  have  wondered  at  the  sudden  revolu- 
tioa  which  brought  England,  France,  and  Spain  all  under  one 
crown;  but  as  also  I  was  no  conjuror,  it  amazed  me  bej'ond  meas- 
ure. .  .  .  From  that  time,  whenever  the  Doctor  came  to  visit  my 
father,  'I  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile;'  a  game 
at  romps  constantly  ensued,  and  we  were  always  cordial  friends 
and  merry  playfellows.  Our  unequal  companionship  varied  some- 
what as  to  sports  as  I  grew  older;  but  it  did  not  last  long :  my  senior 
playmate  died  in  his  forty-fifth  year,  when  I  had  attained  my 
eleventh.  ...  In  all  the  numerous  accounts  of  his  virtues  and 
foibles,  his  genius  and  absurdities,  his  knowledge  of  nature  and 
ignorance  of  the  world,  his  'compassion  for  another's  woes'  was 
always  predominant;  and  my  trivial  story  of  his  humoring  a  f re- 
ward child  weighs  but  as  a  feather  in  the  recorded  scale  of  his 
benevolence." 

Think  of  him  reckless,  thriftless,  vain,  if  you  like,  —  but  merci- 
ful, gentle,  generous,  full  of  love  and  pity.  He  passes  out  of  our 
life,  and  goes  to  render  his  account  beyond  it.  Think  of  the  poor 
pensioners  weeping  at  his  grave;  think  of  the  noble  spirits  that  ad- 
mired and  deplored  him;  think  of  the  righteous  pen  that  wrote  his 
epitaph,  and  of  the  wonderful  and  unanimous  response  of  affection 
with  which  the  world  has  paid  back  the  love  he  gave  it.  His  humor 
delighting  us  still,  his  song  fresh  and  beautiful  as  when  he  first 
charmed  with  it,  his  words  in  all  our  mouths,  his  very  weaknesses 


294  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

beloved  and  familiar,  —  his  benevolent  spirit  seems  still  to  smile 
upon  us,  to  do  gentle  kindnesses,  to  succor  with  sweet  charity;  to 
soothe,  caress,  and  forgive;  to  plead  with  the  fortunate  for  the  un- 
happy and  the  poor. 

EXERCISES 

I.  List  the  chief  qualities  that  you  find  in  some  historic  figure,  such  as 
OHver  Cromwell,  Louis  XIV,  Alexander  Hamilton.  Then  make  a 
chronological  list  of  the  dates  in  the  life.  Compare  the  two  lists  and 
determine  how  many  members  of  the  second  list  need  to  be  included  to 
make  an  expository  account  intelligible.  Do  you  find  other  members 
which,  though  not  really  necessary,  are  so  interesting  as  to  be  worth 
including.''  Can  you  establish  any  final  general  law  about  the  relation 
of  dates  and  qualities?  Make  the  same  experiment  upon  the  life  of 
some  one  of  your  acquaintances. 
II.  What  was  the  character  of  Michael  Henchard,  the  chief  figure  in 
Thomas  Hardy's  novel  The  Mayor  of  Casterhridge,  that  enabled  him  to 
write  the  following  as  his  epitaph.''  On  the  basis  of  the  epitaph  WTite 
a  life  of  Michael  Henchard. 

Michael  Henchard' s  Will 
That  Elizabeth  —  Jane  Farfrae  be  not  told  of  my  death,  or 
made  to  grieve  on  account  of  me. 
&  that  I  be  not  bury'd  in  consecrated  ground. 
&  that  no  sexton  be  asked  to  toll  the  bell. 
&  that  nobody  is  wished  to  see  my  dead  body. 
&  that  no  murners  walk  behind  me  at  my  funeral. 
&  that  no  flours  be  planted  on  my  grave. 
&  that  no  man  remember  me. 
To  this  I  put  my  name. 

Michael  Henchard. 

III.  Write  an  obituary  notice  of  an  acquaintance  of  yours;  of  the  political 
"boss"  of  your  town,  county,  state;  of  Abraham  Lincoln;  of  tHyssea 
S.  Grant  before  he  awoke  to  his  opportunities,  in  the  Civil  War,  and 
another  of  him  at  the  time  of  his  death;  of  Tlieodore  Roosevelt  before 
he  formed  the  Progressive  Party  and  another  of  him  after  tlie  election 
of  1916.  Try  in  each  case  to  give  the  reader  a  knowledge  of  the  char- 
acter and  of  the  events  in  the  life. 

IV.  How  much  basis  have  you  for  making  an  estimate  of  the  people  of 
whom  the  following  were  said,  if  you  limit  your  knowledge  to  the 
remark? 

1.  "To  know  her  was  a  liberal  education." 

2.  "He  was  the  homeliest  man  that  came  up  before  Troy." 


EXPOSITORY  BIOGRAPHY  295 

3.  "No  man  ever  came  out  of  his  presence  without  being  braver 

than  when  he  went  in." 

4.  "  He  never  said  a  stupid  thing  and  never  did  a  wise  one." 

5.  "He  was  a  very  perfect  gentle  knight." 

6.  "I  never  knew  him  to  do  a  mean  act." 

What  conclusion  do  you  draw  as  to  the  usefulness  of  general 
remarks  about  character? 
V.  What  relation  do  you  find  between  personality  and  character?    On 
which  can  you  more  surely  depend  for  making  a  just  estimate?  \ATiich 
do  contemporaries  of  a  subject  for  biography  usually  emphasize? 
VI.  Explain  how  the  mistake  was  possible  by  which  Daniel  Webster's 
celebrated  Seventh  of  March  Speech  was  interpreted  at  the  time  v,? 
delivery  as  a  betrayal  of  Webster's  principles,  although  later  it  was 
regarded  as  a  speech  of  real  integrity. 
Vn.  Explain  how  a  man  like  Thomas  Jefferson  can  be  regarded  by  many 
as  a  great  statesman  and  by  others,  such  as  Mrs.  Gertrude  Atherton 
for  example,  as  a  disgustingly  vulgar  person,  almost  a  rascal.     What 
light  does  your  explanation  throw  upon  the  duties  and  dangers  of 
writing  biography? 
Vni.  What  light  do  the  following  remarks  throw  upon  the  speakers? 
How  much  justification  would  you  feel  in  using  the  remarks  as 
basis  for  biographical  estimate? 

1.  "I  would  rather  be  right  than  President!" 

2.  "The  state?     I  am  the  state!  " 

3.  "  The  public  be  damned ! " 

4.  "If  they  appoint  me  street  scavenger  I  will  so  dignify  the  oflBce 

by  dutiful  service  that  every  one  will  clamor  for  it." 

5.  "Gentlemen,  I  am  an  unconscionable  time  a-dying." 

6.  "When  you  find  something  that  you  are  afraid  to  do,  do  it  at 

once!" 

7.  "  I  never  asked  a  favor  of  any  man." 

8.  "We  have  n't  begun  to  fight!" 

IX.  Make  the  outline  for  an  expository  biography  of  one  of  the  large 
figures  of  history,  including  the  important  events  and  showing  the 
relations  with  contemporaries  and  the  effect  upon  them.  Then  make 
a  similar  outline  for  the  biography  of  some  comparatively  humble 
person  of  whom  you  know  who  has  affected  a  more  restricted  group 
of  contemporaries.  Compare  the  two  with  a  view  to  making  this 
statement:  As  the  great  man  was  to  his  large  group,  so  the  lesser  man 
was  to  his  smaller  group.  What  light  does  this  shed  on  the  individual 
life  without  regard  to  station  in  society? 
X.  Write  a  life  of  Napoleon  from  the  point  of  view  of  Wellington,  of 
Prince  Metternich,  of  Louis  Philippe;  a  life  of  Robert  Burns  from 
the  point  of  view  of  a  country  parson,  of  Frangois  Villon  (supposing 
that  Villon  knew  Burns),  of  William  Shakespeare;  a  life  of  Michael 
Angelo  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  art  student,  of  a  humble  wor- 


296  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

shiper  in  St.  Peter's;  a  life  of  Richard  Croker  from  the  point  of 
view  of  a  ward  boss,  of  a  widow  who  has  received  coal  for  years  fro'U 
Tammany  Hall,  of  an  old-time  gentle-.r.an  in  New  York  City;  a  life 
of  Andrew  Carnegie  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  laborer  in  the  steel 
mills,  of  a  spinster  librarian  in  a  small  quiet  town,  of  a  college  senior 
who  is  a  member  of  the  I.W.W.,  of  a  holder  of  shares  in  the  steel 
trust;  a  life  of  Edison  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  artist  who  prefers 
candles  to  electricity,  of  a  farmer's  \\  ife  w  ho  no  longer  has  to  clean 
a  multitude  of  lamps;  a  life  of  Jane  Addams  from  the  point  of  view 
of  a  political  gangster,  of  a  poor  Italian  woman  whom  Miss  Addams 
has  befriended,  of  a  college  girl  who  has  a  vision  of  woman's  larger 
usefulness. 
XI.  Write  the  life  of  a  man  who  has  just  been  elected  to  some  office  of 
prominence,  such  as  a  seat  in  the  state  senate  or  perhaps  to  the  na- 
tional house  of  representatives,  and  who  is  expected  by  all  his  friends 
and  acquaintances  to  make  a  brilliant  record.  Then  WTite  another  of 
the  same  man  who  has  ignominiously  failed  to  meet  expectations  and 
who  has  come  back  to  his  home  town  with  a  ruined  reputation.  Try 
to  take  the  point  of  view  of  a  person  who  does  not  know  that  tb.e 
career  is  to  fail,  and  then  see  how  you  will  modify  the  whole  account 
in  the  second  life. 
XII.  What  is  the  central  motive  in  Goldsmith's  life  as  found  by  Thackeray.' 
How  does  he  bring  out  his  conception  of  Goldsmith?  Make  an  out- 
line of  the  article  in  which  you  will  list  the  various  events  in  Gold- 
smith's life.  Make  another  outline  to  show  wherein  the  character 
and  quality  of  the  man  are  shown.  Is  enough  given  in  each  case 
to  make  suflBcient  knowledge  on  the  reader's  part.''  Do  you  think 
that  Thackeray  overemphasizes  the  sentimental  appeal  of  Gold- 
smith's weaknesses  and  his  mellow  kindness.''  Do  you  find  any  ele- 
ment of  information  about  the  man  conspicuously  lacking,  as,  for  in- 
stance, a  statement  of  Goldsmith's  friendships,  his  effect  upon  his 
times,  or  his  beliefs?  Is  there  any  lack  of  imaginative  sympathy  on 
the  part  of  Thackeray?  Suppose  that  an  efficient  business  man  had 
written  the  article,  would  Goldsmith's  lack  of  responsibility  have 
escaped  so  easily?  In  the  light  of  your  answer  to  the  preceding  ques- 
tion do  you  think  that  the  article  is  really  fair? 

Translation  of  Biranger's  poem  (page  285) 

Cast  upon  this  ball,  plain,  insignificant  and  suffering;  choke<l  in  the 
crowd,  through  not  being  tall  enough;  my  lips  utter  a  piteous  complaint. 
God  says  to  me,  "Sing,  child,  sing."  To  sing,  or  I  mistake,  is  my  task 
here  below.    Will  not  all  those  whom  I  thus  amuse  love  me? 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  GATHERING  OF  MATERIAL  FOR  WRITING 

Two  main  sources  exist  from  which  you  can  get  the 
material  for  expository  themes :  books,  including  magazines 
and  papers;  and  lectures  or  interviews  of  any  kind.  Li- 
braries differ  greatly  in  the  degree  of  convenience,  and  some 
lecturers  are  much  more  readily  intelligible  than  others, 
and  their  lectures  much  more  easilj^  codified  in  notes.  Even 
the  most  conveniently  arranged  library,  with  the  most 
accommodating  librarian,  is  rather  formidable  unless  one 
knows  the  method  of  approach.  And  until  one  has  thought 
out  the  problem  of  taking  notes  from  lectures,  even  the  most 
intelligible  speaker  presents  great  diflSculties.  Perhaps  a  few 
words  here  will  be  of  some  use  in  unriddling  the  mysteries. 

First  of  all  a  word  needs  to  be  said  about  the  greatest  slav- 
ery of  modern  times  —  slavery  to  the  printed  word.  "I 
read  it  in  a  book!"  is  still  for  many  people  sufficient  reason 
for  believing  anything,  however  untrue,  illogical,  impossible 
it  may  be.  It  is  well  to  remember  that  nearly  everybody 
writes  books  and  yet  very  few  of  us  are  wise.  Obviously, 
not  everything  can  be  authoritative,  especially  when  it  is 
contradicted  in  the  next  book.  A  reader  without  a  good 
steadying  sense  of  balance,  a  shrewd  determination  to  weigh 
what  he  reads  and  judge  of  its  value  for  himself  is  as  helpless 
as  a  man  in  a  whirlpool.  You  need  not  be  too  stiff-necked 
toward  a  book,  need  not  deny  for  the  mere  sake  of  denial, 
but  you  do  need  to  stand  off  and  regard  every  book  with  rea- 
sonable caution.  Sometimes  you  can  see  for  yourself  that 
what  is  said  is  not  true.  Sometimes  you  can  at  once  feel 
that  the  spirit  of  the  book  is  unsafe,  wild,  unthinking. 
Sometimes  you  will  detect  at  once  a  blinding  prejudice. 


298  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

Then  be  cautious.  If  the  subject  is  unknown  to  you,  so  that 
you  have  no  safe  basis  for  judgment  about  it,  you  are,  to  look 
the  matter  squarely  in  the  face,  at  the  mercy  of  the  book. 
But  shrewd  inquiries  as  to  the  author's  reputation,  his  op- 
portunities for  knowledge  of  the  subject,  and  an  ever- watch- 
ful eye  for  reasonableness  and  good  judgment,  will  save  you 
from  many  mistakes.  And  always  remember  that  the  mere 
fact  of  a  statement's  being  in  print  does  not  make  it  more 
true  than  it  was  when  merely  oral.  Don't,  then,  believe  a 
printed  statement  which  you  would  hotly  deny  if  you  heard 
it  from  the  lips  of  some  one.  It  is  a  matter  of  intellec- 
tual self-respect  to  read  and  judge,  not  to  read  and  blindly 
swallow. 

Whether  you  read  or  listen,  you  will  need  to  make  notes. 
It  would  be  delightful  if  our  flattering  feeling  that  we  can 
remember  whatever  we  read  or  hear  were  true  —  the  trouble 
is,  it  is  not.  It  is  better  to  play  safe  and  have  the  record  in 
notes,  than  to  be  too  independent  and  find  a  blank  in  your 
mind  when  time  to  write  arrives. 

The  chief  virtue  in  note-taking  is  economy.  Economy 
saves  time,  space,  effort.  The  three  interweave  and  are  in- 
extricable, in  the  total,  but  may  be  somewhat  distinguished. 
As  to  time :  there  is  no  virtue  whatever  in  slaving  for  hours 
over  notes  that  need  only  a  few  minutes.  Notes  are  tools: 
their  object  is  temporary,  to  be  of  service  for  composition  or 
future  reference;  they  are  not  an  object  in  themselves.  Do 
not  worship  them.  On  the  other  hand,  since  dull  tools  will 
not  cut,  don't  slight  them.  No  greater  pity  can  exist  than 
for  the  pale  student  who  wrinkles  her  brow  —  it  usually 
is  her  brow  —  and  attempts  to  make  of  notes  a  complete 
transcription  of  a  lecture  or  a  book,  with  each  comma  and 
every  letter  in  proper  sequence  joined  —  only  to  pack  the 
notes  away  in  a  box  in  the  attic  —  or  perhaps  burn  them !  A 
builder  who  should  have  too  meticulous  care  for  his  scaf- 
folding is  in  danger  of  never  seeing  his  building  completed. 


GATHERING  MATERIAL  FOR  WRITING         299 

Notes  seek  essentials,  and  therefore  time  should  not  be 
wasted  on  non-essentials.  But,  since  slovenly,  ill-assorted, 
illegible  notes  require  extraordinary  time  for  deciphering  and 
arranging,  it  is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  you  conserve 
your  future  minutes  by  making  your  notes  neat,  ordered, 
legible.  Any  abbreviations  that  you  can  surely  remember 
are  most  useful.  A  complete  sentence  —  which  really  has  no 
special  need  for  completeness  —  that  you  cannot  read  is 
worthless,  but  a  few  words  that  indicate  the  gist  of  the 
thought,  and  are  immediately  legible,  are  most  valuable. 
Moreover,  if  you  take  time  enough  for  every  word,  you  are 
in  danger  of  becoming  so  engrossed  in  penmanship  as  to  lose 
the  broad  sweep  of  the  lecture  or  book.  Notes  must  drive 
toward  unity  and  away  from  chaos.  Your  first  principle, 
then,  should  be  to  set  down  neatly  what  will  be  of  real 
service,  and  let  the  rest  go. 

As  to  space  —  any  one  who  has  made  manuscripts  from 
notes  has  learned  how  irritating,  how  bewildering  a  huge 
mass  of  material  can  be.  Some  subjects  recjuire  such  a  mass, 
and  in  such  a  case  the  note-taker  will  use  as  much  space  as 
he  needs.  But  economy,  which  is  the  cardinal  virtue,  will 
require  as  little  diffusion,  as  great  concentration  as  possible. 
If  you  can  succeed  in  including  everything  of  value  on  one 
sheet,  instead  of  scattering  it  over  several,  you  are  to  be 
congratulated.  Only,  be  sure  that  you  do  not  neglect  some- 
thing of  real  value.  You  can  often  save  much  space  and 
effort  and  the  use  of  stores  of  connecting  words  and  phrases 
if  you  will  indent  and  subordinate  sub-topics  so  that  the  eye 
will  show  the  relation  at  once.  Such  practice  is  admirable 
mental  training,  also,  for  it  teaches  the  listener  or  reader  to 
keep  his  brain  detached  for  seeing  relationships,  for  grasping 
the  parts  in  relation  to  the  whole  and  to  each  other.  If  in- 
teresting remarks  which  do  not  bear  directly  upon  the  main 
subject  attract  with  sufficient  intensity  to  make  record  worth 
while,  set  them  down  in  brackets,  to  indicate  their  nature. 


300  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

Remembering,  then,  that  a  concentrated  barrage  is  of  more 
value  in  attack  than  scattered  fire,  use  as  httle  space  as  may 
suffice  for  the  essentials.     That  is  the  second  principle. 

As  to  effort,  remember  that  the  old  sea-captain  whose 
boat  was  so  leaky  that  he  declared  he  had  pumped  the  whole 
Atlantic  through  it  on  one  voyage  would  have  entered  port 
more  easily  with  a  better  boat.  If  you  do  not  take  time  and 
pains  for  grouping  and  ordering  as  you  make  your  notes, 
be  sure  that  you  will  have  much  pumping  to  do  when  the 
article  is  to  be  made.  Grouping  and  ordering  require  con- 
centration in  reading  or  listening  —  but  there  is  no  harm  in 
that.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  write  one  thing  and  listen  to 
another  at  the  same  time.  Watch  especially  for  any  indica- 
tion in  a  lecture  of  change  in  topic.  And  don't  be  bothered 
by  the  demands  of  formal  rhetoric:  if  a  complete  sentence 
stands  in  your  way,  set  your  foot  on  it  and  "get  the  stuff." 
And,  of  course,  avoid  a  feverish  desire  to  set  down  every 
word  that  may  be  uttered;  any  one  who  has  seen  the  note- 
books of  students  in  which  reports  of  lectures  begin  with 
such  records  as  "This  morning,  in  pursuance  of  our  plan, 
we  shall  consider  the  topic  mentioned  last  time,  namely,  — 
etc."  become  aware  of  the  enormous  waste  of  energy  that 
college  students  show.  Essentials,  set  down  in  athletic 
leanness  —  that  is  the  ideal. 

In  taking  notes  from  books,  people  differ  greatly.  Some 
use  a  separate  slip  for  each  note,  and  much  can  be  said  in 
commendation  of  this  system.  Some  are  able  to  heap  every- 
thing together  and  then  divine  where  each  topic  is.  In  any 
case,  strive  for  economy,  catch  the  "high  spots,"  and  as  far 
as  possible  keep  like  with  like,  notes  on  the  same  topic  to- 
gether. It  is  always  well,  often  imperative,  to  jot  down  the 
source  of  each  note,  so  that  you  can  either  verify  or  later 
judge  of  the  value  in  the  light  of  the  worth  of  the  source. 

Note-taking,  in  other  words,  is  a  matter  of  brains  and 
common  sense:  brains  to  see  what  is  important,  and  sense 


GATHERING  MATERIAL  FOR  WRITING  301 

to  see  that  neatness  and  order  are  essential  to  true  economy, 
the  great  virtue  of  notes. 

With  the  best  of  intentions,  then,  you  enter  the  Hbrary, 
Since  each  hbrary  is  arranged  on  a  somewhat  individual 
scheme,  and  different  collections  have  different  materials,  you 
will  need  to  examine  the  individual  library.  A  wise  student 
will  inquire  at  the  desk  for  any  pamphlet  that  may  help  to 
unriddle  the  special  system.  Librarians  are  benevolent 
people,  do  not  wish  to  choke  you,  and  are  glad  to  answer  any 
reasonable  question.  If  your  questions  are  formless,  if  you 
really  do  not  know  what  you  want,  sit  down  on  the  steps  and 
think  it  over  until  you  do,  and  then  enter  boldly  and  po- 
litely ask  for  information.  Don't,  if  you  wish  to  learn  about 
ship  subsidies,  for  example,  stroll  in  and  inquire  for  "Some'n 
'bout  boats?"  The  complimentarily  implied  power  of  read- 
ing your  mind  is  not  especially  welcome  to  even  a  librarian 
who  is  subject  to  vanity  —  and  incidentally  he  may  think 
that  you  are  irresponsible.  Any  one  who  has  been  con- 
nected with  a  college  library  knows  that  the  notorious  ques- 
tions such  as  "Have  you  Homer's  Eyelid.''"  are  not  uncom- 
mon —  and  seldom  bring  desired  results. 

Since  you  have  entered  for  information,  summon  all  your 
resourcefulness  to  try  every  possibility  before  you  agree  that 
there  is  no  help  for  you  there.  You  can  use  the  Card  Cata- 
logue, the  Reference  Books,  the  Indexes,  Year-Books  and 
Magazine  Guides,  and  finally,  if  every  other  source  fails, 
can  lay  your  troubles  before  the  librarian  —  but  not  until 
you  have  fought  bravely.  Too  many  students  are  faint- 
hearted: if  they  wish  for  information  about,  let  us  say,  em- 
ployers' liability,  and  do  not  at  once  find  a  package  of  in- 
formation ready-wrapped,  they  sigh,  and  then  smile,  and 
then  brightly  inform  the  instructor,  "The  library  has  n't  a 
single  word  about  that  subject ! "  The  Card  Catalogue  does 
not  list  employers'  liability,  let  us  say,  and  you  do  not  know 
any  authors  who  have  written  on  the  subject.     Do  not 


302  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

despair;  look  up  insurance,  workmen,  accidents,  social  legis- 
lation, government  help,  and  other  such  titles  until  your  brain 
can  think  of  nothing  more.  Only  then  resort  to  outside 
help. 

The  Card  Catalogue  will  contain  a  card  for  each  book  in 
the  library :  if  you  know  the  title,  look  for  it.  If  you  know 
the  author  but  not  the  title,  look  for  the  "author  card."  If 
you  know  neither  author  nor  title,  look  for  the  general  sub- 
ject heading.  For  each  book  will  usually  have  the  three 
cards  of  subject,  author,  and  title.  If  the  subject  is  a  broad 
one,  such,  for  example,  as  Engineering,  do  not  set  yourself 
the  task  of  looking  through  every  card,  but,  if  you  wish  for 
a  treatise  on  the  history  of  engineering,  look  for  the  word 
History,  in  the  engineering  cards,  and  then  examine  what 
books  may  be  collected  under  that  heading.  If  you  find 
cross  references,  that  is,  a  recommendation  to  "see"  other 
individual  cards,  or  other  subject  headings,  do  not  over- 
look the  chance  to  gain  added  information. 

Most  of  us  too  often  forget  the  encyclopaedias.  If  the 
catalogue  has  been  exhausted,  then  see  what  the  encyclo- 
paedias may  contain.  Look  in  the  volume  that  contains  the 
index,  first,  for  often  a  part  of  an  article  will  tell  you  exactly 
what  you  wish,  but  the  article  as  a  whole  will  not  be  listed 
under  the  subject  that  you  are  seeking.  The  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica,  the  New  International,  the  Nelson  s  Loose  Leaf 
will  be  of  service  on  general  topics.  For  agriculture  consult 
Bailey\s  Encyclopedia.  For  religion  see  the  Encyclopaedia 
of  Religion  and  Ethics  (Scribner),  the  Jewish  Encyclopedia, 
the  New  Schaff-IIersog  Encyclopedia  of  Religious  Knowledge 
(Funk  and  Wagnalls),  the  Catholic  Encyclopedia  (Robert 
Appleton) . 

For  dictionaries  you  will  find  the  Murray^ s  New  English 
Dictionary,  often  called  the  Oxford  Dictionary,  The  Standard 
Dictionary,  The  Century,  Webster's  New  International,  Black's 
Law  Dictionary  and  others. 


^GATHERING  MATERIAL  FOR  WRITING         SOS 

Often  you  will  wish  to  find  contemporary,  immediate 
material.  The  magazines  are  regularly  catalogued  in  the 
Reader's  Guide,  month  by  month,  with  a  combined  quar- 
terly and  yearly  and  then  occasional  catalogue,  with  the 
articles  listed  under  the  subject  and  the  title  or  author.  Use 
your  resourcefulness  here,  as  you  did  in  the  card  catalogue, 
and  do  not  give  up.     Poole's  Index  will  also  help. 

Many  annuals  are  of  value.  The  World  Almanac  has  a 
bewildering  mass  of  information,  as  does  the  Eagle  Almanac 
for  New  York  City  and  Long  Island  especially.  The  Cana- 
dian Annual  Review,  the  Statesman's  Year-Book,  Heaton's 
Annual  (Canadian),  the  New  International  Year  Book,  which 
is  "a  compendium  of  the  world's  progress  for  the  year," 
the  Annual  Register  (English),  the  Navy  League  Annual  (Eng- 
lish, but  inclusive),  and  the  American  Year-Book,  among 
others,  will  be  of  service.  Often  these  books  will  give  you 
the  odd  bit  of  information  that  you  have  hunted  for  in  vain 
elsewhere.  For  engineering,  the  Engineering  Index  (monthly 
and  collected)  is  useful. 

For  biography  you  will  find  Stephen's  Dictionary  of  Na- 
tional Biography  useful,  and  Lamb's  Biographical  Dictionary 
of  the  United  States.  Do  not  forget  the  Who's  Who,  the 
Who's  Who  in  America,  and  the  corresponding  foreign  books 
for  brief  information  about  current  people  of  note. 

For  what  may  be  called  scattered  information  you  can  go 
to  the  American  Library  Association  Index  to  general  lit- 
erature. The  Information  Quarterly  (Bowker),  The  Book 
Review  Digest  (Wilson),  The  United  States  Catalog  (with  its 
annual  Cumulative  Book  Index),  and  the  (annual)  English 
Catalogue  of  Books. 

In  using  a  book,  employ  the  Table  of  Contents  and  the 
Index  to  save  time.  For  example,  you  will  thus  be  referred 
to  page  157  for  what  you  want.  If  instead  you  begin  to  hunt 
page  by  page,  you  will  find  that  after  you  have  patiently 
run  your  eyes  back  and  forth  over  the  first  156  pages,  your 


304  EXPOSITORY  WRITING 

l)rain  will  be  less  responsive  than  you  would  wish  when  you 
finally  arrive  at  page  157.  Moreover,  there  is  all  that  time 
lost! 

Often  individual  libraries  have  compiled  lists  of  their 
own  books  on  various  subjects.  If  you  can  find  such  lists, 
use  them. 

In  other  words,  the  search  for  material  and  the  taking  of 
notes  is  a  matter  of  strategy :  it  requires  that  the  seeker  use 
his  wits,  plan  his  campaign,  find  what  is  available,  and  in  the 
briefest  time  compatible  with  thoroughness  assimilate  what- 
ever of  it  is  of  value.  Caution  and  indefatigable  zeal  and 
resourcefulness  —  these  are  almost  sure  to  win  the  day. 


INDEX  OF  ILLUSTRATIVE  SELECTIONS 

Amiers  Journal,  " Mozart  and  Beethoven" 277-278 

Antin,  Mary,  The  Promised  Land,  "The  Making  of  an  American"  186-189 
Atlantic  Monthly, Tlie Contributor's Chib, "The Privileges  of  Age "  245-247 
Aumonier,  Stacy,  "Solemn-Looking  Blokes"  {Century  Magazine)       29-33 

Bagehot,  Walter,  Works,  vol.  in,  "A  Constitutional  Statesman".  227-229 

Belloc,  Ililaire,  First  and  Last,  "On  a  Great  Wind" 244 

Bradford,  Gamaliel,  Confederate  Portraits,  "Judah  P.  Benjamin"  264 

Brooke,  Rupert,  Collected  Poems,  "The  Great  Lover" 234-235 

Bullard,  F.  Lauriston,  Famous  War  Correspondents,  "A  Defini- 
tion of  the  Correspondent" 78 

Burdick,  Francis  M.,  The  Essentials  of  Business  Law  — 

" Definition  of  the  Clearing- House" 76 

"Definition  of  Sale" 105 

Burroughs,  John,  Birds  and  Bees,  "An  Idyl  of  the  Honey-Bee"  .  48-55 

Outline  of  "An  Idyl  of  the  Honey-Bee" 64-66 

Birds  and  Poets,  "Emerson's  Literary  Quality" 224 

Leaf  and  Tendril,  "A  Breath  of  April" 247-249 

Burton,  Richard,  Little  Essays  in  Literature  and  Life,  "  The  Nature 

of  the  Informal  Essay  " 243-244 

Butler,  Samuel,  The  Note  Books  of  Samuel  Butler,  "A  Group  of 

Definitions" 109 

Cannon,    J.    G.,    Clearing-Houses,     "  Classification    of    Clearing- 

Houses  " 140 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  Essay  on  Biography,  Selection  from 275-276 

Sartor  Resartus,  "The  Entepfuhl  Road" 40 

Ccnturi)  Magazine,  "The  Hydraulic  Cartridge" 161-162 

"the  Phonopticon" 171-172 

Corbin,  John,  An  American  at  Oxford,  "How  to  Handle  a  Punt"  163-164 
Corbin,  T.  W.,  Engineering  of  To-day,  "Cargo  Steamers" 203-205 

"The  Oxygen  Blow-Pipe" 161 

"Launching  the  Neptune" 178-181 

Cram,  R.  A.,  The  Heart  of  Europe,  "Definition  of  the  Heart" . .  .  104 

Croly,  Herbert,  The  Promise  of  American  Life,  "The  American 

Business  Man" 197-199 

Dilley,  Arthur  U.,  Oriental  Rugs,  "A  Classification  of  Rugs". .  .   119-122 

Eliot,  George,  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  "The  Scenery  of  the  Rhone"  124-125 
Emer.son,  Ralph  Waldo,  Conduct  of  Life,  "Fate" 27-28;  36-37 

Nature,  Addresses,  and  Lectures,  "A  Definition  of  Conserva- 
tive and  Innovator" 93-95 

Society  and  Solitnde,  "Definition  of  Civilization  in  America"       98-99 
Escott,  T."  H.  S.,  Great  Victorians,  "Balfour" 271 


nno         INDEX  OF  ILLUSTRATIVE  SELECTIONS 

Gartlinor.  A.  G.,  rrojtlirts,  rn'csts.  atid  KiiKjs.  "Halfour" 148 

••  Kill!,'  luhvarcl  Nil" l-iS-UO 

••  Lord  MorU'v  " IS) 

"Tlioiuas  Hardy" 149-150 

Carlaiul.  Ilatnlin.  .1  Son  of  I  he  Middle  Border,  a  sontonco  from.  .  45 

Ciis.sinj:.  (J(ori:o.   The  I'ritdte  Paper.f  of  Ileiiry  liyecroft  — 

"Api>los  for  Diet." i\-ii 

"A  I Vliniliou  of  Art" 7 

"A  Doliiiilioii  of  rovorly " S4-85 

"Kn^lish  Cooking" 21()-:^ll 

"Miiilary  Drill" •ii^-'i-ii) 

"Tljo  Sportswoman" I'iS-l^iJ) 

"Tho  •  Tompost"  " i\[\-i\4, 

"Vi\-,vlarianism" ii'i-i'iS 

Grcon,  J.  U..  Short  lliston/  of  the  English  People,  "Estimate  of  the 

CiiarachM-  of  Kli/ahoili " Ii2i»-123 

Greenou,i:li  and   Kilfn-d^o.  M'on/.v  and  Their  Ways  in  English 

Speeeh,  "The  Proivss  of  luuliation" 181-183 

llawois.  Hov.  Mr.,  Music  and  Morals.  "The  Charactor  of  J.  R. 

Croon" iGS-ieO 

Ilawthorno.  Natl\aniel,  Our  Old  Home,  "English  Weather" 1:^0-1)^8 

llondorson.  \V.  11.,  What  is  Good  Music  — 

"Critioism  of  Mnsical  IVrformancos " 2!>0 

"Tlio  :Mo(Iorn  Orchestra" 152-153 

llowolls,  \Y.  ])..  A  Boi/'s  Toum,  "The  Dilferenee  Between  Hoys 

and  Men" ' 107 

IInngiM-ft>ril,  Ethvnrd.  The  Personality  of  American  Cities,  "Bos- 
ton"        6S-G9 

Jndy,  A.  M.,  From  the  Study  to  the  Farm,  "The  Farmer's  Life".  .   150-151 

Lonnsbnry.  T.U.,  English  Spelling  and  Spelling  Reform,  "Final  e"  205-208 

Lnoke.  (\  K..  Poirtr,  "The  Moehanieal  Knj^inoor" 98 

"The  TrohUMU  of  Power  Maehinery  " 137 

">Yator  Power" 151-152 

Masefield.  John,  Galli}X)li,  "The  Horror  of  the  Fight" 69-70 

Morley.  John.  Miscellanies,  vol.  i,  "The  Distinction  Between  tlie 

*  Poetio  and  the  Soiontilie  Spirit " 105-100 

Morman,  J.  B.,  The  Principles  of  Rural  Credit,  "Amortization" .       85-80 

Pollak.  Custav.  Fiffi/  Years  of  American  Idealism  — 

"Jim;o  Morality" .' 220-222 

"Lowell  at  St.  James" 193-194 

" Moral  Af mospluTo" 91-93 

"Uosnonsihlo  Statesman" 87 

l"Velini,  Charles,  Dredges  and  Dredging, "  The  Operation  of  Dredges"  170 

Royee.  Josiah.  "Nietzsehe"  (Atlantic  Monthly) _ l^'l 

llnssell.  Hertrand.  .\ational  Independence  and  Intcmationalism  — 

"iN'atioual  Soutimeut" 220-227 


INDEX  OF  ILLUSTRATIVE  SELECTIONS        n07 

"Rtiitf  und  Nation" 80-90 

Wluj  Men  t'iijhl,  "Impulse  and  Desire" ISid-liiS 

Sainte-Beuve,  "Definition  of  a  Classic" 01 

Scientific  American,  "Tlie  Calskill  Water  Siiitply" IS/i-lKO 

Hcriliner'.s  Magazine,  TIk;  Point  of  View,  "'I'lic  New  Poetry". . .  .  200-i^()I 

Sedgwick,  II.  \).,  Tkc  New  American  Type,  "Honor" lOH 

Shakespeare,  William,  King  Henry  IV,  "IJardolpli  on  'Accom- 
modate'"   HI -82 

Sharp,  Dallas  Lore,  The  Hills  of  f/ini/hiim,  "The  (,'arf)et  Layer".  17.'{-174 
Shaw,  (j.  H.,  Drainalic  Opinion.i  and  Ksnayn  — 

"The  Odds  Af,'ainst  Shakespeare" 110-1 17 

Sanif/j  of  Art,  "Dehnilion  of  Artist" 10.5 

" Jn(li.sj)ensability  of  Law" 15'.i-]rA\ 

"J'assion" 14(i   147 

"I'attern  Desif,mer.s  and  Dramatic  Composers" 11 1-112 

Society  and  Superior  lirainn  — 

"Ability  tliat  (lives  Value  for  Money" 85 

"Superiority  of  Status" 109-1 10 

Slicer,  T.  R.,  From  Poet  to  /'remier,  "O.  W.  Holmes" 272 

Standard  Dictionary,  Definition  of  "Correspondent" 78 

Stevenson,  11.  L.,  "J'ulvis  et  I'nihra" 55-57 

"The  sun  upon  my  shoulders" 45 

Talbot,  P.  A.,  The  Making  of  a  Great  Canadian  Railway  — 

"The  Slon(;  Boat" ' 105 

"The  Track  Layer" 100-108 

Taylor,  \i.  L.,  The  Line  o    Type  Column,  "Ifi^librow,"  etc 102 

Thackeray,  W.  M.,  7'he  English  liumorintn  of  the  Eighteenth  C'en- 

<Mr?/," Oliver  Goldsmith" 28.5-294 

Warner,  Frances  L.,  "The  Amateur  Chessman"  (From  The  Point 

of  View,  Scrilmer.s  Magazine) 249-252 

Webster's  New  International  Dictionary,  Definition  of  "Art".  .  fl 

A  .series  of  definitions 100-101 

Wendell,  Harrett,  English  Composition,  "Carlyle's  Frederick  the 

Great" 270-280 

Weston,  Vj.  M.,  Rock  Drills,  "Hammer  Drills" 1 15-1 10 

"Tappet  Valve  Drills" 219-2i£0 

Wister,  Owen,  Quack  Novels  and  Democracy,  "The  Quack  Novel"       88-89 


INDEX 


Ability  of  the  critic  to  analyze,  192- 
194. 

Adaptation  of  treatment  to  subject, 
6. 

Addison,  Joseph,  233-236. 

Aids  in  gaining  clearness  in  Mechan- 
isms, Processes,  and  Organizations, 
169^172. 

Aids  in  gaining  interest  in  Mechan- 
isms, Processes,  and  Organiza- 
tions, 172-175. 

Aids  in  solving  the  problem  in  Ex- 
pository Biography,  261-265.  j 

Amiel,  Frederic,  277. 

Amount  of  expository  writing,  2. 

Analysis,  8,  113-143;  definition  of, 
113;  enumeration  as  one  kind  of 
informal  analysis,  129;  equation 
as  one  kind  of  informal  analysis, 
130;  formal  analysis,  118;  informal 
analysis,  129-137;  kinds  of  analy- 
sis, the  two,  115-118;  kinds  of  in- 
formal analysis,  129-137;  object 
of  informal  analysis,  124;  the  prin- 
ciples of  analysis,  138-143;  rela- 
tionship as  a  form  of  informal  anal- 
ysis, 131;  statement  of  a  problem 
as  a  form  of  informal  analysis, 
130;  statement  of  significance  as 
a  form  of  informal  analysis,  130; 
the  two  virtues  of  analysis,  114. 

Analyzing  the  character  in  Exposi- 
tory Biography,  270-275. 

Anlui.  Mary,  189. 

Ai)preciative  method  of  criticism, 
209-215. 

Aumonier,  Stacy,  29. 

Bagehot,  Walter,  229. 
Balfour,  Arthur  James,  273. 
Barrie,  Sir  J.  M.,  241,  263. 
Beethoven,  Ludwig  van,  278. 
Belloc,  Hilaire,  239,  244. 
Biography,  Expository,  257-296;  aid 
in  solving  the  problem  of,  261-265; 


analyzing  the  character  of  the 
hero,  270-275;  beliefs  of  the  hero, 
273;  choice  of  events  in  hero's  life 
for,  276-277;  defining  the  hero's 
character,  266-270;  deeds  of  the 
hero,  274;  events  in  hero's  life,  use 
of,  275-280;  friends  of  the  hero, 
274;  heredity  of  the  hero,  270-272; 
interests  of  the  hero,  272;  kinds 
of,  257;  lesson,  danger  of  making 
one,  282;  life  problem  of  the  hero, 
258-260;  object  of  expository  bi- 
ography, 258;  problem,  the  chief, 
of  expository  biography,  258-261; 
problem  of  telling  the  truth,  280- 
281;  process  of  solving  the  prob- 
lem, 260-274;  relation  of  events  to 
personality,  277-278;  relation  of 
hero  to  society  and  times,  278-280; 
rhetorical  form  of  expository  bi- 
ography, 282-285;  rhetorical  value 
of  events,  280. 

B.  L.  T.,  102. 

Boswell,  James,  267,  279,  281. 

Bradford,  Gamaliel,  264,  267,  281. 

Breadth  of  interest  in  writer  of  In- 
formal Essays,  233-234. 

Brooke,  Rupert,  234. 

Brooks,  Sidney,  43. 

Brown,  John.  238,  241. 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  262. 

Bullard,  F.  Lauriston,  78. 

Burdick,  Francis  M.,  76,  105. 

Burroughs,  John,  40,  41, 47, 224,  238, 
247. 

Burton,  Richard,  243. 

Butler,  Samuel,  109. 

Byron,  Lord,  200,  274. 

Cannon,  J.  G.,  140. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  40,  258,  265,  272, 

275.  279. 
Catalogs,  use  of,  301-302. 
Cause   for   stupidity   in   expository 

writing,  4,  25. 


310 


INDEX 


Cause,  method  of  showing,  in  defini- 
tion, 97. 

Cautions  about  definitions,  80. 

Cavour,  266. 

Centralization,  finding  the  root  prin- 
ciple in  mechanisms,  etc.,  159-162. 

Chesterton,  Gilbert,  240,  241. 

Cicero,  12. 

Classification,  8,  117. 

Clearness:  aids  in  gaining,  169-172; 
in  explaining  mechanisms,  etc., 
157,  162. 

Coleridge,  Samuel  T.,  215. 

Comparison  and  contrast,  method  of 
in  defining,  86. 

Controlling  purpose:  definition  of,  16; 
emotional  reaction  to,  26-33;  prac- 
tical use  of,  39-47;  proper  use  of, 
33-38;  source  of,  16-26;  source  of 
in  reader's  attitude,  22-25;  source 
of  in  subject,  16-18;  som-ce  of  in 
writer's  attitude,  18-22;  stated  in 
one  sentence,  37;  value,  relative, 
of  sources  for,  25. 

Cooper,  James  F.,  196. 

Corbin,  John,  164. 

Corbin,  T.  W.,  161,  181,  205. 

Cowley,  232. 

Cram,  Ralph  Adams,  104. 

Critic,  the:  ability  to  analyze,  192- 
194;  common  sense,  195;  knowl- 
edge of  the  general  field  of  criti- 
cism, 194-195;  open-mindedness, 
195-196. 

Criticism,190-217;  ability  to  analyze, 
possessed  by  the  critic,  192-194; 
common  sense  of  critic,  195;  criti- 
cism and  comment,  91;  definition 
of,  190;  diction  in,  216-217;  knowl- 
edge of  general  field,  possessed  by 
critic,  194-195;  methods:  apprecia- 
tive, 209-215;  historical,  196-202; 
standards,  202-209;  open-minded- 
ness of  critic,  195-196;  practical 
helps  for  writing,  215-217;  range 
of  criticism,  191. 

Croly,  Herbert,  129,  199. 

Crothers,  S.  M.,  237,  240. 

Da  Vinci,  Leonardo,  273. 
Deeds  of  hero  in  Expository  Biog- 
raphy, 274. 


Defining  the  character  of  the  hero  in 
Expository  Biography,  266-270. 

Definition  of  analysis,  113;  of  crit- 
icism, 190;  of  informal  essay, 
231. 

Definition:  8,  73-112;  cautions,  gen- 
eral, about,  80;  definition  of,  73; 
differentia  and  genus,  77;  difficulty 
in  discovering  genus,  74;  methods 
of  defining:  of  comparison  or  con- 
trast, 86;  of  division,  90;  of  elim- 
ination, 95;  of  illustration,  83;  of 
repetition,  93;  of  showing  origin, 
cause,  and  effect,  97;  process  of 
definition,  74 ;  restricting  the  genus, 
77;  two  classes  of,  78. 

Demosthenes,  12. 

De  Quincey,  242. 

Dictionaries,  use  of,  302. 

Dilley,  Arthur  U.,  122. 

Douglas,  Stephen  A.,  274. 

Economy,  in  note-taking,  298-299. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  27. 

Elimination  as  a  method  in  defini- 
tion, 95. 

Eliot,  George,  124-125. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  1,  27,  93,  95, 
98,  224,  271,  282. 

Emotions,  the,  and  the  controlling 
purpose,  26-33. 

Encyclopaedias,  use  of,  302. 

Enumeration  as  a  form  of  informal 
analysis,  129. 

Equation  as  a  form  of  informal 
analysis,  130. 

Escott,  T.  H.  S.,  271. 

Essay.     Sec  Informal  Essay. 

Events  in  hero's  life  for  expository 
biography,  275-280. 

Exposition:  amount  of,  2;  answers 
questions,  1,2;  causes  for  stupid- 
ity in  writing  exposition,  4,  25; 
emotions  and  exposition,  27;  prob- 
lem, the,  in  writ  ing,  1 1 ;  success  of, 
12;  task  of,  9-10;  truth  of,  7. 

Formal  analysis,  118. 
Franz,  Robert,  276. 
r'rceman,  Mrs.  M.  E.  W.,  199. 
Friends   of   the  hero  in   expository 
biography,  274. 


INDEX 


811 


Gardiner,  A.  G.,  19,  148,  149,  150. 

Garland,  Hamlin,  45. 

Gissiug,  Georire,  7,  21,  84,  103,  128, 

209,  214,  223,  226. 
Goethe,  Johann,  270. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  2G7,  284,  285. 
Gray.  270. 

Green,  J.  R.,  28,  268. 
Greenough  and  Kittredge,  183. 

Hardy,  Thomas,  294. 

Haweis,  the  Rev.  Mr.,  268. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  126. 

Hazlitt,  195,  231,  232,  236,  238,  243. 

Henderson,  W.  H.,  153,  230. 

Henry,  Patrick,  12. 

Heredity  in    expository  biography, 

270-272. 
Historical  method  of  criticism,  196- 

202. 
Holmes,  O.  W.,  271-272. 
HoNveUs,  W.  D.,  107. 
Humor  in  the  informal  essay,  241- 

242. 
Hungerford,  Edward,  69. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  238. 
Husband,  Joseph,  239. 
Huxley,  Thomas,  44. 

Illustration  as  a  method  of  defini- 
tion, 83. 

Imaginative  sympathy  in  expository 
biography,  261-265. 

Informal  analysis,  123-138. 

Informal  Essay:  231-244;  breadth  of 
interest  in  author  of,  233-234;  de- 
finition of,  231 ;  humor  in,  241-242; 
nature  as  subject  for,  238-239;  not 
too  exhaustive,  242;  not  too  seri- 
ous, 240-242;  not  too  rhetorically 
strict,  242-243;  people  as  subjects 
for,  237-238 ;  personal  nature,  232- 
233;  range  of  subject,  237;  things 
as  subjects  for,  239-240. 

Interest  in  WTiting,  2;  aids  to  gain,  in 
mechanisms,  processes  and  organ- 
izations, 172-175;  of  two  kinds,  3; 
relation  to  imderlying  thought,  8. 

Interpreting  and  reporting,  5. 

James,  William,  4,  44,  266. 
Jefferies,  Richard,  239. 


Jewett,  Miss  S.  O.,  199. 
Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  81,  233. 
Judicial   criticism,    here   treated   as 

criticism  by  standards,  202-209. 
Judy,  A.  M.,  151. 

Labouchere,  Henry,  9. 

Lamb,  Charles,  6,  26,  232,  235,  242, 

262. 
Lamb,  Mary,  259. 
Lee,  Robert  E.,  274,  277. 
Libraries:    catalogues    of,    301-302; 

dictionaries,   302;   encyclopaedias, 

302;  use  of,  301-304. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  2, 16,  87,  269, 270. 
Liszt,  Franz,  276. 
Lounsbury,  Thomas,  205. 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  271. 
Lucke,  C.  E.,  98,  137,  152. 

Masefield,  John,  69,  70,  71. 

Materials:  ordering  of,  41-47;  se- 
lecting of,  39-41. 

Mechanisms,  157-175;  aids  for  gain- 
ing clearness,  169-172;  aids  for 
gaining  interest,  172-175;  cau- 
tions, 158-159;  centralization,159- 
162;  expression  of  root  principle  in 
one  sentence,  160-161;  necessity 
for  clearness,  157-158;  orders  to 
be  followed,  164-168. 

Meredith,  George,  241. 

Methods,  in  criticism:  appreciative, 
209-215;  historical,  196-202;  stand- 
ards, 202-209 ;  in  definition :  com- 
parison and  contrast,  86;  division, 
90;  elimination,  95;  illustration, 
83;  origin,  cause,  and  eflFect,  97; 
repetition,  93. 

Middleton,  Richard,  240. 

More,  P.  E.,  115,  123. 

Morley,  John,  18,  105-106. 

Morman,  J.  B.,  85. 

Mozart,  W.  A.,  277. 

Notes:  care  in  taking,  300;  economy 
the  chief  virtue,  298-299;  methods 
of  taking,  300;  space  of  notes,  299- 
300. 

Order  of  Material,  41-47. 
Organizations:  157-162  (general  dis- 


312 


INDEX 


cussion),  168-169;  aids  to  clear- 
ness, 169-172;  aids  to  interest, 
172-175. 

Parkman,  Francis,  236. 

Parr,  279. 

Partition,  8,  117. 

People  as  subjects  for  informal  es- 
says, 237-238. 

Pericles,  273. 

Poe,  E.  A.,  12. 

Pollak,  Gustav,  86,  93,  194,  222. 

Prelini,  Charles,  170. 

Problem,  statement  of  a,  in  informal 
analysis,  136. 

Problem  of  e.xpository  biography, 
248-261. 

Processes:  157-162  (general  discus- 
sion), 162-164;  aids  to  gaining 
clearness  in,  169-172;  aids  to  gain- 
ing interest  in,  172-175. 

Relation  of  events  to  personality  in 
expository  biography,  277-278. 

Relation  of  hero  to  society  and  times 
in  expository  biography,  278-280. 

Repetition  as  a  method  in  definition, 
93. 

Reporting  vs.  interpreting,  5. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  208. 

Rhetorical  strictness  absent  in  in- 
formal essay,  242-243. 

Rhetorical  value  of  events  in  e.xposi- 
tory biography,  280. 

Rovce,  Josiah,  131. 

Russell,  Hertrand,  90,  135,  227. 

Sainte-Beuve,  91. 
Scolt,  Sir  Walter,  200. 
Sc.lg^vick,  H.  D.,  108. 
Selection  of  material,  39-41. 


Shakespeare,  William,  12, 60, 81,  257. 
Sharp,  Dallas  Lore,  173,  174,  237, 

238. 
Shaw,  G.  B.,  85,  102,  110,  112,  117, 

146,  147,  156. 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  9. 
Significance,  statement  of,  as  form  of 

informal  analysis,  130. 
Slavery  to  printed  word,  297. 
Sheer,  T.  R.,  277. 
Smith,  Sydney,  241. 
Socrates,  263. 
Soiu-ces  of  the  controlling  purpose, 

16,  26. 
Standards,  criticism  by,  202-209. 
Steele,  Richard,  232. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  6,  41,  45,  55,  58,  66, 

237,  238,  241,  257,  259,  260,  263, 

271,  274,  281. 
Strategy,  the  problem  of,  in  writing, 

11. 
Sympathy,  imaginative,  in  expository 

biography,  261-265. 

Taft,  Wm.  H.,  46. 
Talbot,  F.  A.,  165,  168. 
Taylor,  Bert  Lester,  102. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  26,  274. 
Thackeray,  Wm.  M.,  258,  284. 
Truth,  as  related  to  interest,  7-8. 

Unification,  13-14. 

Warner,  C.  D.,  238,  239. 
Warner,  Frances  L..  249. 
Webster,  Daniel,  173. 
Weslon,  E.  M.,  116.  220. 
AVhiblev,  Charles,  266.  269,  283. 
Whistler,  212. 
Wilson,  Woodrow,  12,  176. 
Wister,  Owen,  89. 


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